The Final Flight of the Acheron
by HalcyonLegacy
Summary: The latest generation of a secretive clan embark on a mission to save the Galaxy, but one member's past may jeopardize their lives when it catches up with them.
1. Chapter 1

_*Come to Nar Shaddaa. Pack for 3 days. Fate of Galaxy at stake.*_

 _~Asmodeus Halcyon_

They had all received the same message. Each and every one of them briefly contemplated not showing up, and each and every one of them did.

Oryon was used to this sort of thing by now. It wasn't the first time that Asmodeus had gathered them all together to face some perceived cosmic threat. Every now and then Oryon would get a annoyingly cryptic message in the mail, and it always wound up being some colossal waste of time.

Not to say that there were not real threats, Asmodeus was always watching the scanners, keeping watch for anything that might have followed them out of the Nexus wormhole. In his mind, a tear in spacetime could bring any untold horrors to this galaxy, and he felt responsibilty in holding them back. No, the waste of time was the part where he believed that only "The Halcyons" could or should be responsible for taking action. No one ever put it to a vote, no one ever said "Hey, this galaxy is not exactly short on manpower, we can let them get this one." No, it was always decided by Asmodeus, and therefore every few months all the members of the Halcyon lineage (which was a tricky enough concept to begin with) piled on to one ship and flew out to the far reaches of space where some big Nasty was wreaking havoc. It had grown mundane.

Still, here he was, checking into the Nar Shaddaa spaceport, booking a hangar for his ship. He was so annoyed with the process that he did not hear the footsteps behind him, and had no time to react when a blaster muzzle pressed between his shoulderblades.

"Pew pew, karkface."

Oryon raised his head and closed his eyes, thinking fast. A dozen scenarios ran through his mind in a flash, weighing and calculating the odds of various actions available to him. 2 seconds passed before he concluded that each scenario ended with him sporting a fresh smoking hole in his chest. However, 3 potential actions ended with him taking his assassin down with him. Oryon swallowed hard and prepared for his final act.

"Put it away, nephew." A familiar voice came from over his shoulder. Volaro stepped up next to Oryon and rested his pack on the counter. "Oryon has no interest in your childish theatrics."

Oryon allowed himself to relax. Bakurro, Volaro's rash nephew had joined their ranks only a few weeks before, but had already ingrained himself to Oryon as a right pain in the ass.

The blaster disappeared from Oryon's back, and he turned to stare down the very large Cathar who was looking down on him and grinning.

"Heh, I gotcha doctor man. Could have killed you any time I wanted. Recognize."

Oryon's expression was cool as ice and he leaned in very close to Bakurro and spoke right in his face. "Draw a gun on me again, and I'll hit you with a syringe of the nastiest bowel-cleansing diseases compiled from around the galaxy. You'll be in the 'fresher for a week."

Bakurro chuckled, "I'm too good for you, old man. I'd see you coming a parsec away. You'd be ash before you ever got close enough to touch me."

Oryon picked up his bag and turned away. "Remember what I said."

"Hey! I wasn't done blueboy! Come back here and-" Bakurro collapsed on the floor when he tried to walk. His face met permacrete hard enough to make him see stars. "What the druk?" He grabbed his left leg and shook it. "I can't feel my leg!"

Oryon smiled as he walked away, placing the anesthetic injector back into his coat pocket, and Volaro howled with laughter.


	2. Chapter 2

Lilia pulled up her hood as she entered the Nar Shaddaa promenade. Her long cloak drew around her, and her heavy bag slung low on her shoulder. As long as she remained covered, she could pass as just another face in the crowd, not drawing any attention to herself.

This was her first time on Nar Shaddaa, and while she was excited by the prospect of coming back one day and enjoying the nightlife, right now she was just hoping that nobody noticed her knees trembling in nervousness.

It was not the seedy atmosphere that worried her. She was more than capable of defending herself, as the two lightsabers on her belt were quickly becoming as familiar to her as old friends. No, what made her anxious was the scrap of paper in her hand, calling her to meet with Asmodeus Halcyon at a specific hangar. This would be her first mission with the Halcyons, and she was ready to prove herself as a major player.

She had briefly met Elder Halcyon on the shuttle off Tython. He was kind and experience, and reassured her that she was more than capable of living up to her Legacy. However, when she inquired as to why she had never been with them on these missions before, his response had been discouraging.

"Well, child, there are those of us who have known each other for some time, and there are those in the Halcyon lineage that are only recently inheriting the power. Michael does not yet have an explanation for why we can sense Halcyon Energy in some of you, and he is slow to trust. He thinks of some of you as 'the B team', and it bothers him that so many are being detected with the energy so long after our initial arrival."

"I...don't understand, Master."

"Fret not, there is much about it I do not comprehend myself. As near as I can understand, the Nexus Event that brought us here is still unstable, and is opening random tears at the far end of space. More often than not, these are harmless, both far out of the way of any civilized life, and usually opening out to uninhabited empty worlds. It will remain open for a short time, and then close on its own. But occasionally, something comes through from the other side. It stands to reason that if these creatures can come through, then eventually, at some point, the tear will open both on our side on the galaxy, and back to somewhere similar to where we came from. If that were to happen, it is possible that Halcyon Energy could be...leaked? Extracted perhaps? I am not sure."

Elder smiled, "Its the closest explanation I have for why Halcyon's keep popping up in this galaxy. But you must understand, I do not care who you were before, or what brought you to us. You are here now, and that makes you family."

Lilia snapped out of her reverie and continued her trek to the coordinates provided.

 _He thinks we're his 'B team' eh? I'll show him. I'm more than capable of running with the champs. I...I..._

 _..._

 _I am so totally lost._

Looking around, Lilia had stumbled into a level she was definitely not supposed to be in. The colored lights and cheerful din of the casinos had vanished, and in their place was a wet, dank smell, and trash blowing through the street. She had wandered into one of the seedy underlevels of Nar Shaddaa, and strangers were not welcome here.

"Heyyy, little girl. Heyy, heyy." An Arcona junkie sitting in a doorframe brushed some trash off his legs and rose to his feet, huddled over and reaching out. "Heyy girlie, you come to party?"

Lilia quickly picked up the pace and headed down the street. There was light and familiar sounds coming from around the corner, and she hurried to get back to a populated area.

The sound of her footfalls echoed down the mostly empty street. More than once she had to hop over a mound of rags and trash, keeping up her pace and hoping that those mounds were just sleeping people, and not-

 **BAM**

Lilia rounded the corner and ran hard into a mountain of a Nikto. She bounced off his back and landed on hers, hard.

The Nikto and his buddies turned and looked down at her. They were standing outside a cantina, and they had obviously been drinking. Lilia scrambled back to her feet and draped her cloak around her again, but it was too late. She had their attention.

"Well well well, look what we got here, boys. You lost, sweetie?"

Lilia threw her hood back over her head. "I'm fine, I apologize for running into you, sir."

The Nikto grinned, "Hey, its no problem, baby. Why don't you come buy us a drink to make it up to us. We know a place, come on" The Nikto grabbed her arm. Lilia struggled and started reaching for her belt when suddenly-

 **CRASH!**

The glass wall outside the cantina shattered as a body came flying through it, knocking two of the Nikto down. The big one released Lilia as he turned to see what had happened.

"Ha ha!" A big red Twi'lek jumped into the window frame, his heavy boots crunching glass. "What have we here?" He hopped down, landing on the Duros he had thrown through the window. "I was just taking out some trash, and I stumble upon a most unseemly scene!"

The large Nikto growled and turned to the Twi'lek. "Beat pavement, lek, and I'll forgive you knocking over my guys."

The Twi'lek looked over the shoulder of the Nikto at Lilia and grinned. "I don't know, seems to me that fair lady here would appreciate it if I took out a little more trash." He turned back to the Nikto, "Whats the matter, Renson, Anna's place low on entertainment today? You gotta start picking girls off the street?"

The Nikto, Renson, shoved the Twi'lek back. "This ain't none of your business, Arbokk. We was just working out an arrangement."

Arbokk's smile faded just ever so slightly. "She looks kind of young for you, Renson. Maybe you oughtta find some arrangements elsewhere."

"Hey!"

Renson and Arbokk both turned to Lilia.

" 'She' is standing right here, and I don't need either of you creeps arguing over me." She stood tall and put a hand on her belt.

Arbokk laughed and put a hand on the Nikto's shoulder. "Look at that! My mistake, lady. I was hoping to add 'dashing rescuer' to my resume tonight, but looks like you got this under control, so I'll just head back inside."

Arbokk turned to head back in, but the two Nikto he had knocked over were blocking his way. "Heya fellas, sorry about that. Collateral damage, you know? I'll buy you an ale sometime. Now exxxcuuuse-"

"He ain't goin nowhere." Renson growled, and the other two Nikto grabbed Arbokk by the arms.

"Woah, hey now, thought we were cool?"

"Changed my mind. You're both coming with us." Renson grabbed Lilia's arm again and started pulling her away.

"I don't think so."

In a flash, Lilia jumped forward and kicked her left leg as hard as she could, inverting her position and striking Renson across the jaw. He immediately released her and she fell, catching herself while Renson stumbled backwards and grabbed his face in pain.

"Oh, you're gonna regret that, girlie." He growled and charged at her.

Lilia put her hand out, grabbing his lowered shoulder and flipping upwards over his head, throwing her weight to the side and crashing him face-first into the wall.

"Oh, YEAH!" Arbokk hopped up and down excitedly, and quickly stomped on the foot of one of his captors and immediately headbutted the other. "Now we're talkin!"

The fight was over in an instant. Renson lay unconscious on the ground, another Nikto draped over the broken windowframe, and the third was hanging from the streetlamp by his pants leg, dangling upside down and groaning nasally through his broken nose.

"Hey, you're all right, kid." Arbokk clapped her on the shoulder. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were a little more than you look."

Lilia straightened, "I am Jedi, and while I appreciate your intent, I was more than capable of diffusing that situation without violence."

"Hey kiddo, I don't know if you remember, but you kinda threw the first punch back there."

"Yes, well...I ...I .."

"Relax kid, you did the right thing. Those boys were nasty fellas, and now they can sleep it off. Besides, we got places to be, don't we?"

Lilia was confused, "Do I...know you?"

Arbokk smiled. "Not yet, but look closer..."

Lilia closed her eyes and focused on the strange Twi'lek before her, and sensed it immediately. "You're a Halcyon."

"Yeah, I smelled it on you when I first saw you. Figured we're here for the same reason."

Lilia relaxed. "Thank goodness. Do you know where we are supposed to be?"

"Oh yeah we're way off. C'mon, lets head back topside."

Arbokk grabbed a pack from over the windowframe and started heading back the way Lilia had came. "C'mon, there's a lift back this way."

Lilia took one last look at the three Nikto assailants, and gave Renson a quick kick on her way past.

 _Looks like I got to enjoy a little nightlife after all._


	3. Chapter 3

Alan Halcyon arrived early at the hangar. It was in his practice to do so, but today he had an ulterior motive. He rented a locker for an hour, and put his bag inside, taking great care to quietly and subtly pull out his blaster and tuck it in his coat pocket. He also grabbed his holobadge, which identified him as a member of Czerka's private militia.

Over the past year, a handful of people began to exhibit strange energy readings, and found themselves with a strong but unstable connection to the Force. Several of them, like Alan, had never shown any Force sensitivity in the past, and suddenly found their senses overwhelmed. Alan had been piloting a speeder when the power manifested, and ended up crashing into a housing complex.

He had woken up inside a Czerka facility, the med bay droids doing everything they could to repair his body. He spent a week in a kolto tank, and even then required extensive cybernetics to replace parts of his body that were damaged beyond repair. When he woke enough to speak to his benefactors, he was informed that no charge would be applied for the restoration, but instead Czerka had sought him out to offer him a job as a private investigator, protecting Czerka interests.

Alan had been retired from CorSec for some time at this point, and was more than happy to get back into action. It wasn't until months later that he discovered that several other people had manifested this strange connection to the Force, and went through suspiciously similar scenarios as himself. Each one had suffered an accident shortly after the power struck them, and each one was picked up by Czerka and fitted with cybernetics and tasked with protecting Czerka interests. Alan didn't have to be a cop to smell something suspicious.

But, for now, it paid the bills, and it was good to be back on the streets again.

Alan walked through the docks at Nar Shaddaa, casually playing the part of a tourist, but watching carefully. His cybernetic eye was discreetly scanning the crowd and feeding information to him through the UI implanted in the lens.

It didn't take long for his quarry to show up. A man in a black coat carrying a briefcase hurriedly shuffled through the spaceport, making his way to a small, out of the way hangar.

 **Subject Identified - Pursue**

Alan's eye scanner lit the man up like a neon light on his visual display, and Alan quietly followed him into the hangar.

A young man in a brown jacket stepped into the docks and looked around. Foster, only 19 years of age, had never been to Nar Shaddaa before, and immediately felt uncomfortable. He had grown up in a farming community in a human colony near the Outer Rim, and had never felt at home in bustling cities. He much preferred the solitude and sounds of nature, and had been in the middle of a weeklong hunting trip on Taris when he received the summons.

Foster had been accepted into Imperial Intelligence at a young age. His colony had been burned to the ground by a renegade Sith Lord, and when Intelligence arrived to clean up the incident, he had been found by a Chiss Agent named Oryon. The blue-skinned agent had told him that he was special, that Foster was part of the same legacy that he himself belonged to, and sponsored him for special instruction within Intelligence.

Foster had retained significant injuries, and was put in contact with a surgeon who operated out of a Czerka facility. Having received special permission from Keeper, Foster was allowed to join the Czerka militia as a private contractor in exchange for undergoing cybernetic grafting that would repair his body and enhance his abilities. Foster was a hunter, a sharpshooter, and the new lenses that fit over his eyes tripled his accuracy at long range.

In exchange for these cybernetics, Foster would occasionally receive instruction from Czerka to provide long-range backup to their agents. All his missions ran through Keeper first, to ensure that no conflict of interest ever arose between his Czerka missions and the interests of the Empire. For the most part, Foster went where he was told, and did what he was asked to do.

So when he received a cryptic message to come to Nar Shaddaa and meet with the Halcyons, it was business as usual.

When Foster entered the docks, his cybernetic lenses immediately identified another Czerka contractor, who happened to be identified as a Halcyon as well.

 **Ally Detected - Likely Contact**

He saw Alan quickly shuffle into a hangar at the far side of the spaceport, and set out on a brisk pace to follow.

Alan drew his blaster and quickly ducked behind a cargo container near the entrance to the hangar. He was following a former Czerka researcher who was attempted to sell private information regarding Czerka's weapon designs to a gangleader in the local Hutt Cartel. The gangmembers were already in position, and their leader was speaking to the Czerka defector.

Alan began to uncoil the wire to a listening device he could place on top of the container that would amplify sounds around him. This way, he could hear their conversation without breaking cover. He did not want to give away his position, he was seriously outnumbered and outgunned. No, this wasn't about recovering the stolen property, this was just about collecting the evidence. Czerka would send someone in later to recover the stolen info, and Alan would slink away unnoticed.

At least, that was the plan.

The plan went straight out the window when Foster Halcyon plopped down noisily next to him behind the cargo container. "Hey, whats up?"

Alan stared dumbfounded at the kid, and whispered hoarsely "What is the matter with you? Get down!"

Foster whispered back, "I am down!"

"Shut up."

Alan peeked over the cover. Fortunately, they had not been noticed.

He turned back to the young man. "I'm kind of in the middle of something right now, kid. Beat it before you get shot."

"Hey, don't worry about me, old man."

Alan gently set the listening device on top of the cargo container and fed the end of the wire into jack on his armplate. He held a finger to his other ear instinctively while listening to the deal going down.

"...brought you the best stuff, straight from Czerka."

"Hey" Foster whispered quietly, "what are you doing?"

"Shh!"

Foster rested his arms on his knees, exasperated. "Don't shush me, grandpa, not my fault you walked into this thing."

"Shhhh!"

Foster rolled his eyes, and Alan listened intently.

"...utt thanks you for the opportunity to-"

"So are you going to bust these guys, or what?"

Alan switched off the microphone for a minute. "No, you idiot. There's like 15 guys with guns out there." He frowned at the young man. "Its not all guns blazing, moron, sometimes actual detective work is needed, and that requires subtlety." He pointed to the enormous rifle Foster was carrying on his pack. "Something you clearly know nothing about."

"Hey, pops, 90% of my job waiting quietly in cover, and waiting for-"

"Then why aren't you any good at it, IDIOT?" Alan smacked Foster on the back of the head and switched the microphone back on.

Foster grabbed the back of his own head, furious. He shoved Alan.

Alan made a disgusted face at Foster, and shoved him back.

Foster punched Alan in the arm.

Alan punched Foster in the face.

Foster grabbed Alan and rolled him, striking him repeatedly.

Alan rolled over Foster and grabbed him by the chest, shoving him against the ground.

"Ahem."

Both men looked up, and saw over a dozen men staring at them with guns drawn.

Alan muttered "Oh, druk."

As blaster bolts began raining down like hellfire upon them, Foster and Alan scrambled to get back behind cover.

"Nice detective work there grampa!" Foster shouted over the roar of incoming fire.

"Shut up!" Alan lobbed a flash grenade over the container. Three men stopped firing and grabbed their faces, but it did little to stop the torrent of blaster bolts that was slowing eating away at their shelter.

Alan and Foster were pinned down. They were halfway between the men shooting at them, and the hangar doors. They couldn't make a run for it without fulling exposing themselves to the gunfire.

"I can't get a shot!"

"Just hang on kid, I'll think of something."

 **Targets Identified - Action Required**

Alan and Foster looked at each other. "That wasn't me!" Foster shouted.

Alan checked his own UI. It wasn't him either.

 **Action Required - Obliterate**

What in hell was that?

The hangar doors suddenly exploded as if struck by a thermal detonator. Alan and Foster covered their face as debris and dust flew around them. Through the dustcloud, heavy mettalic footsteps slowly pounded their way closer.

Foster panicked. "What the kark is that?"

From the dustcloud, several explosive charges flew over their heads with a loud CHUNK CHUNK CHUNK. Explosions fired off in quick succession from behind them, and several of the armed men behind them yelled and ceased fire.

 **Targets Identified - Obliterate**

From out of the dustcloud walked an enormous battle droid. It was 7 feet tall, built large and wide, covered in black and red body armor.

"I AM QUARROS HALCYON. PREPARE YOURSELF FOR DEATH."

Alan dropped his blaster in amazement.

The battle droid that identified itself as Quarros had an enormous assault cannon mounted over his shoulder. It revved up and began spewing superheated plasma bolts like hellfire in a wide arc across the hangar. All the while, it was slowly marching towards the attackers, mowing them down. Foster watched in awe as it walked past them, directly into incoming fire, and began laying waste.

Alan peered from behind cover and watched as Quarros, one by one, began executing those who had survived the initial wave of fire. One man lay on his back, his leg blown off below the knee, and was doing his best to empty his blaster chamber into the battle droid's chest. Quarros never looked down at him, he walked over him, crushing his head with a massive metal foot, and did not break stride as he headed towards the Czerka defector, who was curled into a fetal position and trembling.

"Wait wait, please! Don't kill me! I have money! I'll do anything!"

"YOUR CRIMES ARE DOCUMENTED. PREPARE YOURSELF."

Quarros aimed his fist at the cowering man, and a blaster chamber extracted from his wrist and took aim.

"no no wait! I know what they did to you! I can help! I can return you to what you were, just let me-"

"TARGET IDENTIFIED - TARGET NEUTRALIZED"

"No wait NO!"

 **BAM!**

Foster stuck his head behind a crate and the sounds of vomit were obvious. Alan just stood, dumbfounded by what he had just witnessed.

Quarros turned and approached Alan, the heavy CLOMP CLOMP of his footsteps echoing in the now-silent hangar.

The battle droid raised his hand, palm upwards, and small holo-badge displayed above it.

"DESIGNATION: QUARROS HALCYON. I WAS SENT AS BACKUP."

Alan tucked his blaster into his holster. "That was...kind of overkill, don't you think?"

"MY INSTRUCTIONS-"

"Son of a- jeez man can you turn that thing down?"

Quarros stood silently for a moment, then resumed in less amplified voice.

"My instructions were to observe your operation. If the situation devolved, my objective was to neutralize the situation to prevent unauthorized access to Czerka property."

"Yeah well...alright then."

Foster came back from around the crate, wiping his mouth. "That was insane..."

Quarros turned, "It is time for our next appointment."

"Appointment? Wait, you're coming with us?"

Quarros walked towards the hangar doorway, "I am a Halcyon. My presence was requested on the same mission that brought the two of you."

"Oh great, " Foster exclaimed. "Good to know we got MurderBot riding with us. I feel better already."

Alan narrowed his eye. "C'mon kid. We got places to be."


	4. Chapter 4

During the day, the planet Tython can be a rather noisy and busy place. Ever since the Jedi Council moved their main headquarters back to the old temples, people from all over the galaxy had come to fill out the ranks of the Jedi. Padawans, trainers, Masters, not to mention the essential staff of non-force sensitives that maintained the property, all of them bustling in and out of the area, making noise. You could hear the main temple long before you could ever see it through the brush.

However, nighttime on Tython changed the dynamic considerably. When sun went down, most of the Jedi would retire to their quarters. The Masters would meditate, or hold private training sessions. Trainees would eat their dinner in the mess hall, or convert a classroom into an impromptu theater and watch holo-vids until late into the evening.

Out in the forest, however, the nightlife would come alive. The hum of insects, the sounds of life, would fill the thick, dank air, and by moonlight you could see an entirely different side of the Jedi planet. Once the sun rose again, one sound would soften as the other increased, but for a few short hours in the dark, the native life of Tython would reclaim their planet.

So it was that during the night, there was one person in particular that you would not find in her quarters, or watching vids with the padawans. She was not to be seen in the archives, nor sharing a meal in the mess hall. The young Cathar called Adara preferred to spend her evenings out in the jungle air, enjoying the sounds of nature at their apex, and slinking through darkness unseen and unheard.

Adara was a small, lean figure of a Cathar, and could easily slip through the dense jungles of Tython. Of course, this was forbidden for the trainees. Tython is a dangerous place at night, with many natural predators that would not hesitate to seek out a nighttime snack among the young and uninitiated. Of course, even when she was a trainee, Adara made it habit to sneak out anyways, preferring the peace of the natural world over the peace offered by the Jedi.

Even better, now that she had formally completed her training as a Padawan and was officially a Jedi, she no longer had to hide her habits. She was free to do as she pleased, and though the limitation had never stopped her in the past, it was liberating to have once less thing to worry about.

Adara loved to climb the tall thick trees of Tython, to peer over the canopy and see what mysteries she could find. The planet was littered with ruins of the past, and while most had been picked over time and time again, now and then she could find little treasures among the forgotten ruins of the old world. There was no shortage of baubles and broken devices one could play with if one had the time and patience to look. And tonight, Adara was looking for something in particular.

Two nights prior, she had been exploring a section of ruins that had almost completely been reclaimed by the forest. Thick brush and creeping vines had nearly entirely hidden a small stone stairwell that led down into what once might have been a laboratory or classroom of some kind. Very little had survived over the years, but in the rubble a small broken device had been recovered. Adara had no idea what it was originally supposed to do, but it was small, and fixed with a lever that still operated. Of course, it lacked a power source, as well as whatever attachment it was originally meant to operate, but Adara found fondess in it, and had kept it in her quarters.

Tonight, she set out for that same ruin to try and see what else she could recover. The twin moons of Tython lit her path into the jungle, but once inside, light became scarce. Cathar had a degree of night vision, which served her well in retracing her steps back to her destination, but once she arrived, she pulled a small lamplight from her satchel and clipped it to her belt.

As she descended into the murky darkness of the old ruin, she flicked on the lamp and illuminated the path in front of her. Cobwebs and dust had claimed the area for their own, but Adara descended deeper into the old structure, the floors slowly began to look cleaner, and even the corners seemed devoid of any signs of life, as though not even the spiders dared to stray this deep.

Eventually, Adara came to a large, cavernous room. The floor was still paved with broken stone, but the ceiling had surrendered to the course of nature, and whatever natural carved rock housed this structure was all that was visible up above.

As Adara turned to look around, a small flash caught her attention. Something metallic reflected the light of her lamp and sparkled from a small cropping of rock and stone. Adara dug through the brush until she found another small device, similar to the one she had found before. The lever of this one was jammed, but it had two small buttons that the other did not have. And unlike the first one, this one had some kind of power source within it, for when she pressed the button, small faint lights could be seen firing up under the mesh lining. Adara smiled, having found another treasure, and tucked it away in her pack.

She swept her lamp across the area, and caught another reflection. This one was faint, but large and round. It was nestled in a broken section of wall, and seemed intermittent. One second the reflection could be seen, the next second it was gone.

Adara hurried over to the broken section of the wall and shined her light in. All she could see was some kind of thick leathery surface, and a faint smell of moisture and decay filled the air. Adara looked around the room, again. Perhaps there was some small creature in here, one that had carried off the yellow reflective orb she had spotted?

When Adara turned back to the wall, the orb was back. It was large, about the size of her head, and had some kind of black imperfection in the middle. Adara unclipped the light from her belt and raised it to the hole in the wall, and when the light struck the orb, the black crack in the middle contracted, and Adara could see plainly what it was.

 _Oh no_

The enormous eye blinked, and a deep growl rumbled from within. From behind the wall, a clawed hand emerged over the top, and eye disappeared as the creature raised its tusked head over to look at the intruder.

 _not a flesh raider, far too big far too big, what is that?_

Twin tusks appeared as the creature slowly raised its head over the wall. As it rose, overgrowth from hundreds of years of slumber peeled back and revealed a series of spines and overlapping plates and scales.

Adara's adrenaline surged, and a word from her history lessons about Tython came back to her in a flash, popping into her head like a warning light and sending her heartbeat racing.

 _Terentatek_

The beast roared, revealing row upon row of vicious teeth, and Adara stumbled backwards, tripping over a stone. She fell on her back, and the lamp fell from her hand and shattered. The beasts mouth was closing as the light faded and the world was pitch black darkness.

 _ksccchhh!_

Adara ignited her lightsaber, and the bright orange beam illuminated the room. The beast reacted instinctively to the sight of the blade and swung a claw down to grab her. With a quick swipe of the blade, Adara severed a finger off the creature clawed appendage, and the beast shrieked in pain.

Adara fled.

It was dangerous attempting to find her way back to the surface at top speed, and that danger was doubled by the lightsaber she held out in front of her to light her path. But she had no choice. She could hear the creature following, growling and snapping at her heels. The corridors were two small to fit the creature, but it pushed through anyways, lurching and leaping and pushing its way through to its prey.

Adara stumbled once again, and felt the beast's clawed hand wrap around her ankle. It snorted as it began pulling her back into the depths.

 _No time for half-measures_

Adara clicked a switch on her saber, and the second beam descended from the bottom of the pommel. With a quick backwards flick of the wrist, the beasts entire clawed hand was separated, and Adara was released as the beast howled in pain. Adara scrambled to her feat, and didn't stop running until she was back in the light of the moons.

Dirty and tired, Adara leaned against the wall of the Jedi Temple to catch her breath. She gasped for air and sank to the floor, her heart still racing.

"Are you alright?"

Adara jumped, startled. A Jedi Master in a black robe was approaching her with a look of concern on his face. She scrambled to her feet.

"Yes, Master."

"You look like you've been through it." The man smiled, "Find some adventure out there tonight?"

Adara took a deep breath and nodded.

"Thats excellent." He extended his hand. "I'm Michael."

She took his hand and gasped out. "Adara."

"Yes I know. Adara. You're actually the reason I'm here."

Adara looked up, and her hood fell back from her face.

"Me?" She asked in disbelief.

"Yes. You've got another adventure ahead of you. C'mon, you can sleep on the way."

A few moments later, a ship was carrying the two off-world. The sun rose, and sounds of the Tython night faded once again.


	5. Chapter 5

In dock 74 of the Nar Shaddaa spaceport, a ship was preparing to depart.

All around, various personnel were busy fueling, loading, and prepping the ship for its journey. One package in particular was given special treatment. It was the figure of a man encased in carbonite, an expression of surprise frozen on his face forever.

"Hold there." A man in a black and gold uniform stood by the loading bay of the ship. "Item number?"

The woman pushing the cart with the frozen man checked the ID tag on the side. "N1879B, carbonite encasing of an adult Zabrak male."

The man with the clipboard located the ID number on the form and waved them past. "Kind of a silly helmet he's wearing."

Outside the shipyard, a tall man with white hair and a long white beard prepared to load his pack and board the ship. Unlike many of his comrades, he was grateful for the opportunity to get the Halcyon lineage together and get away now and then. He liked to keep an eye on all of them, get to know them and what they are doing, but because several of their clan had sided with the Empire during this war, it was rare that he got to see many of them.

"Elder!" A rustic-garbed rogue approached with a smile on his face.

"Mr. Rodeo, always a pleasure." Elder reached out his hand.

Rodeo shook his hand, and asked, "You ready for another trip?"

"I am. It will be good to see everyone again."

"Has, uh, Michael shown up yet? Did I miss the lightshow?"

Elder frowned, "I'm hoping that Michael and Asmodeus can keep their tempers at bay for one outing."

"Not much chance of that happening. Ever since Michael found out that he was duped into believing he had killed Asmo, he's been a walking ball o' fire. I hear he refuses to give the big guy his sword back, even. He's bringing it along just to show it around and piss of Asmo!" Rodeo laughed.

Elder's frown deepened. While there was often animosity between several members of the clan in the past, he had always hoped for reconciliation between the two leaders of their separate factions. Elder had a secret desire for both groups to be able to live together in harmony, and perhaps even spend time on the other side now and then. It was a fantasy of his to have dinner on Dromund Kaas one day, though he knew that opportunity would not reach him anytime soon.

"Let us hope we can keep things professional this time around."

"Yeah, remember last year? That worm-thing out past Hoth? Michael ditched Asmo on that asteroid and tried to tell us that he just found a different ride home?"

"I didn't find that as funny as the rest of you did."

"Honestly, watching those two is half the reason I show up to these gigs."

Elder smiled. "Yeah? Whats the other half?"

Rodeo peeled back his shirt, revealing a nasty scar that reached up and around his shoulderblade. "Chicks dig scars, pal."

Elder rolled his eyes. "Have you heard if the ship is ready? We've never needed this much preparation time in the past."

Rodeo clasped the back of his neck and looked down. "Yeah well, that might be my fault."

Elder looked down at Rodeo, who was sheepishly trying to look innocent. "What did you do?"

"Well..." Rodeo shrugged. "Asmodeus always gets us one of those stripped-down cargo ships to do this in. And its always three days of straight up boredom. No windows, no booze, no women. Its miserable."

Elder's eyes narrowed, "But not this time?"

Rodeo shrugged again, and tried to hold back a smile as he said, "Hey, business is good lately. I figured we deserved a little R&R. So I...might have switched the serial numbers on the ship Asmo requisitoned..."

The dock bay doors slid open, and Elder's mouth dropped.

"Behold! The SoroSuub Luxury 500! Only the best food, drink, music and party supplies allowed on board."

The pleasure yacht was enormous, forming a horseshoe shape around the dock. It was gold with a silver trim running around every window and porthole. Colored mood lighting could be seen through the observation decks, of which Elder could count 6 just on the side of the vessel that was facing him. Everything about this ship screamed luxury and extravagance.

Rodeo turned and faced Elder. "What do you think?"

Elder stood dumbfounded. "How much did this cost? You really think Asmo isn't going to notice the difference?"

Rodeo put his hands on his hips and smiled. "Thats the beauty of it. Paid for it myself, swapped the serials, hired the prep crew and catering services out of my own sources. Asmo won't notice a thing until he actually shows up and see it for himself."

Elder shook his head and grabbed his pack. "I've changed my mind. You better hope Michael has it in his mind to cause some trouble. Otherwise," he tapped Rodeo on the chest. "...it'll be YOU that gets dumped on space rock."

"Woah-ho-ho! Nice! You guys travel in style!" Foster and Alan came into the dock, followed closely by Quarros. "This is gonna be awesome!" Foster exclaimed excitedly.

A loud rumble could be heard outside the dock, and a few seconds later Mitvekzuk walked in, wearing his customary full body armor and helmet. Following him was a hover-lift, carrying crates upon crates of lockboxes.

Rodeo called out. "Hey Mit! We're only gonna be gone three days! You look like you packed enough for a month. You really need that many changes of clothes."

"Aint clothes." Mit growled through the helmet. "Its ordnance."

Rodeo quickly stepped out of the way. "Oh yeah, sure. By all means." He gave Elder a mock-worry look as the heavily armed soldier walked past.

"Niiice digs. You boys gonna spoil me into soft beds, eh?" The pirate Arbokk came through the far gate, accompanied by Lilia. Elder smiled when he saw her. He was worried she had gotten lost. Thankfully, it looked like she made her way without trouble.

"Are you guys ready to..." Oryon stopped mid-sentence when he saw the ship before them. He paused for a minute, and looked over a Rodeo. Rodeo gave a sheepish grin.

"Idiot." Oryon hiked his pack over his shoulder and headed towards the ship.

"Hey fellas." Rodeo, Elder, and Oryon all stopped at the sound of a familiar voice, and turned to find Michael Halcyon walking in with a young padawan. He was dressed in his customary black robe, and was wearing a large sword on his hip, clipped next to his lightsaber.

"Heya boss." Rodeo caught Elder's eye, gestured to the sword on Michael's hip, and winked.

Oryon smiled. It had been too long since he had seen his brother in person.

Michael grinned and held out his arms wide. Oryon's smile faded and he rolled his eyes in exasperation. "No no, not again." Michael came in closer. "No, stop. I swear I will sedate the hell out of you." Michael came in close, as Oryon backed up. "I'll shoot you in the head I swear I will!" Michael wrapped his arms around Oryon and lifted him off the ground in a great big bear hug. Rodeo and Elder laughed. Oryon grunted as Michael lowered him back to the ground.

"Your displays of affection are neither appropriate nor requested." He straightened his coat.

"Admit it, you're glad to see me."

Oryon frowned and continued straightening his jacket. "Are you taking your medicine?"

"Oh!" Michael twisted his head around in mockery. "Yes, mother." He gestured back to the young woman who walked in with him. "Gentlemen, this is Adara. I don't think she's had a chance to be introduced to everyone yet."

The men took turns introducing themselves to Adara, who quickly shook their hands and then folded her arms back against herself. Oryon took note of her body posture and actions, concluded to himself that she, like himself, was not comfortable with physical affection and immediately respected her a little more for it.

"Well, we ready to get this show on the road?" Michael looked up and saw the extravagant vessel being fueled up in the dock. "That's...fantastic."

Rodeo grinned. "Right? Charter says we are headed out in the unknown territories not far from here, so I figure we'll have around 19 hours or so just for the flight down there. Plenty of time to have some fun and recover from the hangover afterwards." Michael grinned and clasped Rodeo on the back.

Elder looked around. "Lets see, Michael, Rodeo, Mit, Lilia, Adara, Alan, Quarros, Oryon, Arbokk, Foster...we're still missing a few."

Rodeo spoke, "Ah yeah, I needed a little help pulling this switch-a-roo off. I had Barrow assist with getting some stuff arranged. He and his buddy Akator are already on board."

Oryon nodded. "Yes. Volaro and his nephew arrived when I did, I presume they went ahead and boarded as well."

Michael looked around. "Well then, I assume Asmodeus is ready to make his big entrance?"

Oryon shrugged and headed for the ship. He was curious to see what kind of medical facilities a pleasure cruiser might offer.

Elder stepped forward. "Adara, dear, why don't you head inside and pick out a place to stay for the next few days?"

The young Cathar nodded and headed for the ship.

Elder and Rodeo both turned to Michael. "You need to give him the sword back." Elder said sternly.

Michael frowned. "Not this again. You know what he did." He gave them a pleading look. "He got in my head, made me think I had killed him. As far as I'm concerned he owes me the damn sword."

Elder shook his head. "He owes you an apology, for certain. But you know how much he cares about appearances. That sword is a symbol to him. And seeing you wearing it around is only going to provoke him. Then you two will start arguing like you always do."

"Yeah, and we're the ones that gotta listen to it for the next three days." Rodeo added.

"Not a chance." Michael frowned and folded his arms. "He's been making my life miserable for decades now. All of a sudden we get here and he decides he wants to turn over a new leaf? Fine. I'm willing to forget the literal years of murder and mayhem he caused. But then he pulls this crap, with the brainwashing? The grief, the guilt? I nearly went crazy! No, no. I'm keeping it." He grinned. "And if causes pain to that fat, ugly, arrogant, self-absorbed, insane, scheming tub of lard, then I'll wear it every day! Also, he's fat." Michael grinned wider and looked expectantly at Rodeo.

Rodeo was not chuckling. HIs face had gone pale and he was looking downwards. Elder was crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.

"Aw no. Come on. You couldn't have said something?" Michael turned and was face to face with his old nemesis, Asmodeus.

Asmodeus looked down at the sword on Michael's hip and frowned. Michael looked at Asmodeus and frowned harder.

Asmodeus looked him in the eyes. "Michael."

Michael looked back. "Forget your helmet?"

Asmo gestured behind him. "Stored my armor. We are supposed to be travelling discreetly."

Rodeo looked nervous. "Yeah...about that..."

Asmodeus looked up and saw the yacht. He looked back at Rodeo, who grinned and rubbed the back of his neck. "Surprise?" he said weakly.

"HEY!"

A voice echoed through the docking bay. Barrow could be seen in the one of the observation deck's windows, holding a microphone that projected his voice over the PA system. "Lets get this show on the road!"

Asmodeus shook Elder's hand and nodded. He ignored Michael and Rodeo and headed for the ship.

Rodeo turned back to Elder and said, "Oh yeah, this is going to be a GREAT trip."


	6. Chapter 6

Asmodeus Halcyon was a patient man. He believed in the virtue of waiting for the right opportunity, for the right outcome. He rarely ever lost his temper, he rarely ever raised his voice. Occasionally, however, he did find himself gripping the armrests of his chair in frustration.

His quarters on the charter ship were far too extravagant for his taste. The luxury cruiser was designed to house VIP guests and hedonists with far too much money to spend. The bed was fluffed, the room was stocked with a full bar, and a crystalline chandelier hung from the ceiling, the very example of extraordinary taste.

Asmodeus shook his head. There was a reason he always chartered cargo carriers for these trips. The team needed to be sharp, focused for the battle in front of them. This ship offered far too much distraction. Especially so now that the new members were accompanying them for the first time. Asmodeus did not want them to get the impression that being a Halcyon meant a life of excess.

He pressed a button on the outside of his armor crate, and it opened with a hisss. Inside, his familiar armor and helmet sat ready for action. Asmodeus lifted the helmet and reflected on its visage. He had grown fond of this particular look over the years. The spiked helmet gave an almost regal appearance, as though a helmet and crown had been melded together, and the armor he wore reflected that visual style. But over time, its age had begun to show. There were countless scratches and scrapes, scars from battles won and lost over the years. He did his best to keep his armor buffed and cleaned on a regular basis, but all of this only slowed the effects of time. He sighed, and placed the helmet back in its resting spot.

* * *

Rodeo was very excited to board the ship that would be their home for the next few days. He had spared no expense to make sure that the new members of the clan would find their first mission with the group one that they would never forget. The ship was packed to the brim with entertainment options of all tastes and styles. The main dining hall was stocked with an open bar that never shut down, thanks to its droid caretender. The ship had a persistent holonet connection, so all avenues of holovids and serials were available. The finest food processors were stationed all over the ship. At any point anyone could walk up to a processor and access the kitchen's entire menu instantaneously.

 _Yup_ , he thought, _I did all right._

"Rodeo, you done screwed up big this time!"

 _What?_

Rodeo turned and saw Barrow approaching down the hallway. The tall bald Rattataki was wearing his armored legplates and boots, but was donning an open trenchcoat within nothing underneath up top.

"Barrow! I figured you'd be the one person that I wouldn't have to worry about with the ship. This is paradise for you, right?"

Barrow walked up and shook Rodeo's hand. "Close, but not quite. Where's the dancers? Where's the serving girls and boys? Where's the personal touch, Rodeo?"

"Ah, yeah. Well, I had to make some concessions. I knew Asmo would be pissed about the ship, but I also figured that he'd go along with it. But it had to be unmanned. Bringing a bunch of civilians on board? That'd be crossing the line and he would have chartered a new ship on the spot. Then we'd be back on a cargo carrier. Concessions, Barrow. Even balance."

"So now I gotta spend three days with no warm bodies to keep me company at night?" Barrow pouted.

Rodeo shook his head. "Sorry, buddy. Only living beings on the ship are those of the Halcyon clan. Though I hear Oryon is quite the cuddler, if you wanted to hit him up."

Barrow pondered for a moment. "Well that brings up an interesting point. There are plenty of fresh faces on board right now. I noticed a couple of the new guys are kind of lookers themselves. Is that weird? I mean, its not like we're really related?"

Rodeo put a hand on his chin, thinking. "Well, that's fair, I guess. Still seems kind of weird though. I mean, most of the group considers each other family after all."

Barrow shrugged, "I don't know. I see new faces, people I've never met before. We're alone a big old pleasure yacht for a few days...I can see it happening."

Rodeo pondered this. "I don't think so. Seems unsavory. Like messing around with your cousin or something."

Barrow grinned at Rodeo. "C'mon now hillbilly, don't tell me you never kissed a cousin before."

Rodeo blushed. "You're vulgar, you know that?"

Barrow laughed. "Ah maybe I'll find a little companionship this trip after all." He began to wander down the hall. "Catch you later, big boy."

"Don't be a creep, Barrow!" Rodeo called after him, and smiled.

* * *

In the cockpit of the ship, Akator was preparing for launch. His cybernetics were more extensive than Alan or Fosters, and he was able to network with most of the ships interface through his optical ports, requiring little physical movement to operate the vessel. Technology comforted him, and he was never more at home than when he was piloting a ship.

"Remarkable." A voice came from behind him, and Akator turned to face Volaro, who had entered the cabin.

"Master Volaro. Welcome." Akator spoke, his voice human but with just a toice of audio processing. The cyborg parts in his vocal chords gave his voice a strange quality, a hybrid of human and droid sounds, and he was aware that it made some people uncomfortable. If Volaro felt any discomfort, however, he did not show it.

"Greetings Akator, and please, there's no reason for you to call me Master. None at all." Volaro studied the cabin, which was wide and covered in blinking lights and switches before a large cylindrical viewport. "Are you piloting the ship yourself? I see seats for three."

Akator nodded. "That is correct. This vessel is designed to be captained by an on-duty crew of three, plus Captain, with a rotating schedule to reduce fatigue and human error."

"I see." Volaro paced the cabin. "But you are here alone?"

"My cybernetic enhancements allow me to control the vessel through my on-board processors, eliminating the need to be in physical contact with the controls in order to operate them. This cuts the need for three pilots down to one."

"And as for the rotating schedule?"

Akator swiveled his chair back towards the viewport. "I have a variety of systems that allow me to function at peak efficiency for approximately 2 standard weeks at a time without fatigue or increasing my margin of error. Do not fret, Volaro, I am perfectly capable of piloting the ship for the duration of our journey."

Volaro frowned, "You're still a young man, son, despite your enhancements. The unfortunate circumstance that caused you to need these implants may have taken parts of your body, but you still need to nurture your mind. Don't become like that abominable creature in the lower decks. He's more machine, now, than man."

Akator turned back to Volaro. "To whom do you refer?"

Volaro pulled out his datapad and displayed a visual image of the Halcyon Legacy. "This one, here. Name of Quarros. He too was a part of that ghastly Czerka program that you and the other two were in. But his injuries were quite severe, and I do believe that very little of the old Quarros survived. Czerka made him into little more than a battle droid."

Akator studied the profile with interest. "I'll have to meet him later."

Volaro nodded. "Do that, son. And don't forget to get out of this cabin from time to time. Some sentient interaction would do you good."

Akator nodded. "I will try."

Adara stood in an observation deck near the port side of the ship. It was her favorite spot on the ship she had found so far. It was small, intimate. A handful of relaxing chairs and a wall full of books lined the room. And a large window looked out the side of the ship. Adara looked forward to falling asleep watching the stars fly past.

A sudden PING startled her out of her daydream, and a metallic voice came through the intercom. "The ship will be launching in 5 minutes. All personnel are to clear the dock."

"Hi." A voice came from behind her. Adara turned and saw a young woman with blonde hair in the doorway, a Jedi robe draped over her shoulders.

"Hello." Adara said, quietly.

"I'm Lilia, I think we had some classes together back on Tython." She extended her hand.

Adara shook it quickly and then withdrew back into herself, sitting in one of the chairs. She pulled her knees up to her chest and offered a faint smile. "I remember you. You graduated a year before I did."

Lilia looked out the observation window. "Thats right. I thought I recognized you. I think you and I are the only girls on board."

Adara shrugged lightly. "I guess so. I haven't met everyone yet. I only met Michael yesterday, and he brought me straight here."

Lilia turned back to Adara, a concerned look on her face. "Michael came for you, directly?"

Adara nodded. "He did. I assumed he recruited everyone himself. Is that not the case?"

Lilia frowned for a moment, then shrugged it off. "He's a busy guy. I've been trying to get in to see him for weeks. He always is running off, I'm starting to think he's avoiding me."

Adara looked around. "Well, if you wanted to talk to him, this would be a good chance. Seems to be a small group of people going on this trip."

The ship shuddered as the repulsors activated, and the pleasure yacht began to ascend. Adara stood and walked over by Lilia to watch the liftoff.

The girls watched as they rose above the docks into the night sky of Nar Shaddaa. The bright lights of the casinos were visible all around, and speeders hurled through the busy skyways like fireflies.

A moment later, the skies grew darker as the atmosphere grew thinner, and it wasn't long before they were out in the coldness of space, leaving the Smuggler's Moon far behind them.

Lilia turned to Adara and smiled. "Hey, want to see something neat?"

Adara smiled weakly. "Sure."

"Come on," Lilia took Adara's hand and led her down the hallways. Adara found herself smiling, wondering if she had just made a friend. "I hear they have a frozen man down in the cargo bay."


	7. Chapter 7

Michael lay on his bed in his quarters, looking up at the ceiling. It was in his nature to become meditative when alone, reflecting on various situations and preparing actions and reactions to different possible outcomes of those situations. He liked to believe that he was well prepared for anything. However, even he found himself often amazed by the situations he found himself in when travelling with Asmodeus and the others.

The Jedi sat up on his bed, and leaned forward, resting on his knees..

 _Its been a long time. Maybe the time has come to bring this conflict to an end?_

Michael turned and saw the sword resting against the wall. He frowned. _He manipulated me. Made me believe I had killed him. And for what? So he could get a little vacation?_

He frowned and closed his eyes, trying to meditate and purge his thoughts of anger. The nagging little voice inside him would not be silenced so easily, however.

 _He cares not how his actions affect others. I spent months in agony, wrestling with my own darkness, all for nothing._

Michael's face darkened just slightly, and his eyes flashed orange for the briefest of moments. _I could do it this time_. He thought. _I could ensure that he never hurts anyone ever again._

* * *

"C'mon, hurry up!"

Down in the cargo bay, Adara and Lilia hurried down the steps, giggling and shushing each other. It was dark down here, and vacant. Normally, the cargo bay would be full of various food and drink. For this small charter flight however, the supply list was much shorter, and only a few crates of food and drink decorated the area.

And then, off in one corner, concealed by the shadows, a large slab of carbonite stood, like a sentry standing guard.

"Over here!" Lilia called, and Adara jogged over to the corner.

"Woah."

Before them, a man frozen in the dark stone. His expression was one of anger, surprise, and madness. He wore a conspicuous ceremonial robe, and a large cylindrical crown on his head. His arms stretched out in front of him, as if warding off some unseen assailant.

"He looks...surprised." Adara felt uncomfortable, and folded her arms in. "I don't like the way he's looking at me."

"Oh come on, Adara, he's harmless. Whoever he was, he's not much more than a statue now." Lilia was trying to sound confident, but Adara was right. Lilia felt the man's eyes on her as well, and it made her uneasy.

"Seen enough?" A gruff voice echoed through the cargo bay, and startled the girls.

Lilia grabbed a saber and set her finger on the switch, ready to ignite it. "Who's there?"

"Put it down kid." The sound of heavy boots approached, and a large armored figure stepped out of the shadows. "Before I take it from you."

Adara's eyes widened. She knew who this was...

"You two need to stay away from that thing." Mitvekzuk stated flatly. "There's no reason for you to be down here."

Lilia clipped the lightsaber back onto her belt and frowned. "I dont think I have to take orders from you, sir."

Mit turned to Lilia, his face completely obstructed by the visor on his helmet. "I'm not ordering you. Not yet. I'm just giving you a warning, for your own good."

Adara stepped forward. "Sir? Who is that? Back there in the stone?"

The soldier looked back at the corner, and subconsciously put his hand on his weapon. "He's a criminal, and he's answering for his crimes."

"But why bring him here? Why would he be coming with us?"

"Kid, you got questions, I get that. But I'm not the guy to be telling you. Go ask your boss." He turned and headed back to his own corner of the cargo bay, where he had set up a makeshift bed out of ammo crates. "Now get outta here."

Lilia opened her mouth to tell the soldier that she'd go wherever she liked, but Adara stopped her, and pulled her towards the stairway. "Yes sir." Adara said quietly, and Lilia frowned.

As the girls went up the stairs, Mit turned off the lights in the cargo bay. His helmet provided enough low-light vision to suit his purposes, and he didn't like the way that statue smiled at him, either.

"So, everyone seems to be settling in nicely." Elder commented to Oryon as they walked the halls of the ship together. "Seems like this cruiser has something for everyone."

"It's ostentatious, to be sure, but it is well equipped. The med bay is very robust for a civilian vessel." Oryon walked with his hands clasped behind his back, reflective of his military background.

"The general mood of the group is positive, from what I can read. Though there is much uncertainty about where we are going." Elder was concerned. "I assume we will be following our traditional schedule?"

Oryon nodded. "We'll do a briefing in the morning. I'm thinking it might not be a bad idea to have a get-together tonight, however. Many of the new team have questions regarding their legacy, what it means to be a Halcyon. I think its time they got some answers."

Elder nodded in agreement. "I can see the logic there. I've been speaking a bit with Volaro. We've been doing our best to piece together the story as a narrative, so it can be told with a little more clarity."

"Excellent." Oryon sounded encouraged. "Then I say after dinner tonight we gather everyone together and let the new team in on our little secret."

* * *

"Dinnertime, ya'll!"

Barrow announced over the system loudspeaker, and soon everyone began filing into the mess hall.

"Alright, processors against the wall, disposals are over here by the exit! Don't nobody go anywhere afterwards, we got a thing after this." Barrow was enjoying his role as de facto captain of the ship, and took every opportunity to point out where everything was.

Asmodeus had mandated that the mess hall be worked over before the meal was served. He wanted to make sure that everyone was together, and had all the tables but one folded up and against the wall. One long table ran the length of the room, forcing everyone to share a meal together instead of breaking off into groups.

Bakurro had barely left the mess hall since coming on board. He found the wine dispenser particularly favorable to his tastes, and was currently sleeping off the effects in the corner of the room, curled up on the floor. Volaro sighed in exasperation upon seeing him. "Get up!" He kicked his nephew hard, and Bakurro coughed and scrambled to his feet.

"S'not bad, Uncle. All you can drink, y'know?" Bakurro was obviously slurring his words.

"Shape up, child." Volaro bared his teeth and hissed at the younger Cathar. "You are acting a fool. Everyone else here is capable of presenting themselves with dignity, and-"

"Woooooo!" Arbokk stumbled by, clearly having availed himself of the winery as well. "This ship is awesome!"

Bakurro grinned. "You were saying, Uncle?"

Volaro rested his head in his hands for a moment, the waved his hand as if brushing away some irritating fly and went to get some food.

"So, Michael" Alan sat his tray down across from Michael Halcyon, who was already eating. "I understand you've spent some time on Corellia?"

Michael chewed his food and nodded. He swallowed and said, "I've spent some time up at Coronet City, studying with the Green Jedi there."

"No kidding? I spent ten years in CC, working CorSec." Alan took out his holocom and displayed a picture of himself in CorSec uniform. "I worked sector 17, as detective-inspector."

"Small universe." Michael smiled. "You should talk with Mit. He works closely with CorSec, spent a lot of time over there clearing out their Sector 13."

"He must have had his hands full then, that area is a mess." Alan put away the holocom. "The Green Jedi are a big deal back home. It must have been an honor learning from them."

"Oh no question." Michael smiled as he reflected fondly on his time spent there. "I've always heard tales of the bravery of the Green Jedi, and studying with Master Destas." Michael gestured around the room. "If I ever get a chance to settle down, retire? I'd like to move back to Corellia. Raise my family there."

Alan looked puzzled. "I thought Jedi were not allowed to have families?"

Elder leaned into Michael and interrupted. "It's discouraged, but you'll find that Michael here doesn't care much for guidelines."

Rodeo snorted, and choked on his food. Michael reached over and clapped him on the back. "Its not a big deal if you aren't a practicing Jedi anymore. One day I'd like to leave this life. Hang up my robes, settle down and have a few kids. And you can bet your last dollar, Alan, that when I do, I'll be raising my family on Corellia."

"It sounds wonderful, Master Jedi."

Over the next hour, there were many conversations among friends new and old. Laughter permeated throughout the ship as old stories were told and the clan got to know each other all over again. Although he would never show, it warmed Asmodeus' heart to see everyone getting along so well.

He caught Volaro's eye, who was watching him. He smiled at Volaro, who bowed his head in deference to his old master. Volaro tapped his wrist, the universal sign for 'watch the time'. Asmodeus checked his datapad, and nodded back at the Cathar. Volaro stood and left the room to begin preparations.

Asmodeus tapped his cup on the table three times loudly, and the conversation and laughter faded away as everyone turned to the head of the table.

"It is good to see everyone in such fine fellowship." Asmodeus remarked.

"Oh here we go..." Rodeo muttered under his breath. Michael chuckled.

"You will need each other, in the times to come. It is important to share meals with each other, to know each other. Its why we don't allow anyone else to come on these journeys. You must learn to depend on each other, to trust each other."

"Ok, no this is good." Foster piped in. "Are you gonna tell us why we are all here? You keep telling us that we're part of the same clan, but most of us never met each other before."

Asmodeus nodded. "You've been patient long enough. Volaro is waiting for us in the reading room. It's time you all learned why you were asked to join us...

"It's time you all learned the Secret History of the Halcyon Order."


	8. Chapter 8

In one section of the ship, there was a cozy relaxation room. It resembled a library or archive, with shelves and databanks of various purpose decorating the room. A fireplace was lit, and Volaro sat next to it in a large armchair. The room was dark, with only the fire flickering and casting shadows on the wall.

"Gather round, I'll tell you what I can..."

The younger members took seats on the floor near Volaro, whereas the older members slowly filed into the room and stood near the back.

"A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a great calamity threatened the lives of the entire universe. With great effort, and with great loss, it was defeated, and sealed back in the dark dimension from which it came. The Old Ones of this galaxy strove to ensure that the barriers between the dimensions would never be broken again. And so they sought out the weak spots in the dimensional fabric, and found other versions of their own universe."

"Hold up, Uncle," Bakurro interrupted. "You're talking about alternate dimensions?"

"That is correct, Bakurro. Other imprints of our galaxy do exist. Sometimes the difference between them is vast, but for countless others, they are near mirror images of our own, with only the passage of time and the effects of free will determining their own shape and form."

Bakurro looked away and chuckled. "And you believe this nonsense."

Volaro narrowed his eyes. "As will you, before this trip is over."

Bakurro lost his smile and looked concerned, and Volaro returned to his story.

"The Old Ones sought out other Universes like their own, and met their own counterparts from these alternate dimensions. They worked together to rebuild the dimensional walls, and to set up a central hub between them, where the excess power from the dark dimensions could be harnessed and utilized to increase the strength of each universe's barriers.

"They called it the Nexus, where all of space-time and every possible version of their universe overlapped in one small corner of space. Through their dark powers and vast technology, they constructed a small moon and hid it, just a moment out of sync with the rest of time. A perfect hiding place for the most dangerous power source in the galaxy. A temple was constructed, and it was inside this Temple that the Old Ones of each corresponding galaxy gave their own lives in order to fuze the connections of each galaxy together inside a great crystal."

Arbokk looked up, suddenly interested.

"However, they knew this would not be enough. They knew that the Nexus would need protection."

"Excuse me, Volaro? I'm sorry. I don't understand." Lilia spoke up. "You said they died creating the crystal. How could they make plans to protect it if they were dead?"

Volaro smiled. "Clever girl. In fact, I did not say that they had died. I said that they had given their lives to create it. Their physical forms, abandoned and sacrificed, the carbon in them combined and compressed to form a crystal capable of harnessing the energies from the dark dimensions and keeping them out of sync with time, rendering them harmless. It was not unlike a diamond, or the crystals we use in our lightsabers, only much larger, and bristling with energy. A very special kind of energy, in fact.

"You see, children, powers from beyond are very potent, and not to be trifled with. They open one's connection to the Force like a burst dam, overflowing them with power and energy. Many who attempted to utilize these energies burnt from within, unable to withstand a direct connection to the Force."

Adara looked puzzled. "But then, how does this explain how they survived their 'deaths?'"

Volaro turned to her, "My dear, what do you think happened to these beings when they died?"

Adara thought for a moment. "If they melded with this power you speak of, then they became exposed to this intense Force energy. Force Ghosts?"

Volaro smiled and nodded. "That is correct. Their direct exposure to the power of the Force allowed them to live on in the Temple, as beings of pure energy. Knowing that the power they sustained was too much for any one individual to share, they made a pact to protect the Power of the Nexus from all of those who would abuse it. To this end, they created the Guardians."

Michael and Asmodeus looked at each other, exchanging heavy expressions, and turned back to Volaro.

"The Guardians were peoples of all races that were chosen to protect their own version of the Nexus temple from those who would exploit it. Each of the Old Ones would divide a portion of their power amongst their chosen Guardians, who would then find their connection to the Force amplified by a great measure. Not enough to destroy them, mind you, but enough to sense the Nexus, even hidden in time and space. Enough to know when it was in danger. And enough to combat that danger, if needed."

"In one version of the universe, the greatest Old One was a spirit called Halcyon. We know very little about him, or who he was before giving his life to the Nexus. But we know that he shattered himself into many divisions, and imbued one Guardian from each galaxy with a measure of his own power, in addition to the power granted to the others. The power would seek out those it deemed worthy to protect the Nexus, and it sailed the galaxy waiting for the right moment to imbue them with their own power. These Guardians were charged with leading the others, with the most sacred duty of protecting the Temple and the Nexus Crystal. And they became known as the Halcyon Order."

Volaro looked up towards Asmodeus and Michael, as though asking permission to continue with this part of the story. Both nodded, and took a sip of their drinks, perfectly in time and in tune with one another.

Volaro settled in his chair, his light and merry expression gone, replaced with a countenance of complete seriousness. "There was one Halcyon in particular who fell from his duty. He succumbed to the call of the power within him, and abandoned his post in order to take the Nexus power for himself. He violated his Nexus Temple, drained the crystal of its energies, and used his newfound power to conquer his galaxy. He became a scourge, wiping out any who refused him, and burnt his universe to ash."

The younger Halcyons listened intently. Asmodeus shifted, and took another drink of his tea.

"But this was not enough for him. His lust for power grew, and he returned to the Nexus Temple and used its connection to traverse the dark dimensions, seeking out other dimensions to plunder. Along the way he acquired other like-minded followers, one in particular he took as an apprentice, and together they hopped from one place to another, leaving havoc in their wake."

"But one galaxy they hopped to was different. There another Halcyon Guardian made a stand and faced down the intruder at the Nexus Temple."

Volaro stopped and took a drink, settling back into his chair.

"Well? What happened?" Foster asked.

Volaro looked up and met his eyes. "There was a great battle, as all good stories must have. The Nexus temple was nearly destroyed, the dimensional barrier was damaged, and without it the fate of the universe was surely unbalanced. And so the great Old Ones intervened. They reached through time and space and gathered all Halcyons, past and future, and deposited them into a dimension that had no version of the Nexus, where the Halcyon power was rendered inert."

He opened his hands, and gestured around the room. "And here we are."

"Wait, hold on a second." Arbokk spoke up, frowning. "Thats...thats absurd! 'Cosmically chosen guardians?' That reeks of bantha poodoo. I remember my whole life, I wasn't ripped out of some...other dimension? Seriously? You're all buying this?"

Volaro raised a hand. "Hold on there, son. I'm not done yet. There were 8, originally." he gestured to the back of the room, where the older group was listening. "Asmodeus, Michael, Elder, Oryon, Rodeo, Barrow, Mitvekzuk, and Haborym. They were all transported from the lives they led, to here."

He looked back at the younger generation. "The Halcyon power HAS no power in this universe. The Halcyon's are not any more or less powerful than anyone else would be in our situation. But the dimensional barrier WAS damaged. And traces of the power continue to leak through to this day. Sometimes, we have found, it tries to follow its intended purpose. It seeks out those it deems worthy, and makes them Halcyons. That, is why the rest of us are here."

"So I get to be drafted in this service, but I don't even get any cool powers to go along with it?" Foster was disappointed. "Thats...really lame."

"Hold on there." Alan raised his head. "That doesn't make sense. If these eight were brought here from another galaxy, how have they made their way in the universe? There'd be no records of them ever existing."

"Ah, I'll take that one, if you don't mind, Volaro." Rodeo spoke up. "First off, its galaxies, not galaxy. We all came from different lives. I wasn't even a Guardian when I was snatched up."

Volaro nodded and repeated. "Past AND future."

"Right, evidently, I was gonna be. Whatever. The point is, we all got dropped off here. And you're right. We needed...legitimacy." Rodeo shrugged. "Apparently we made a bit of noise on arrival. It wasn't long before we started attracting all kinds of attention."

Oryon nodded. "The Halcyon energy may have no potency here, but it still gives on an energy signature. Undetectable by most consumer-level equipment."

"But the people that came to us were professionals." Barrow added.

Oryon continued. "They were investigating why the eight of us were giving off different energy readings than other people. Eventually, we told them our story."

"And they offered us a deal." Asmodeus spoke up. "They would arrange for us to have documented backgrounds, proper credentials. They put us into this galaxy's records, and got us set up with new lives. In exchange, we worked with them on some ... special projects. They wanted to test the energy we gave off, to try make it work here."

"Did they?" Lilia asked.

Asmodeus shook his head. "No. As far as we can tell, being a Halcyon here doesn't give you any advantage. But they were able to find some use for us. Several of us worked for them for quite some time, and a few of us still keep close ties to the corporation."

"What corporation are you talking about?" Arbokk asked.

"Czerka." Mit growled through his helmet.

Alan's eyes widened as the past few years suddenly started making a little more sense. It was Czerka that had sought him out after the accident, as they had with several others in the room. They had a vested interest in his survival. He and Foster exchanged a meaningful glance.

"Ok, wow." Adara stood. "This...this is a lot to take in."

Volaro nodded. "We felt it was time you knew the truth about what it means to be a Halcyon."

"Thats enough story-time for tonight." Barrow stepped in. "We've got this big ship, and we're going to make use of it." He grabbed a bottle of wine. "Who's ready to forget their worries, eh?"

"Hold it!" Lilia raised a hand. "Just, two questions? Can I ask two questions?" She looked to Barrow. He sighed.

"Alright, two questions, then we drink"

"Thank you." She turned back to Volaro. "First, where are we going?"

Volaro nodded. "Good point, I suppose that would be helpful." He put his hands on his knees. "The dimensional tear that brought us here has been sealed.. But the...uh...damage...done to the Nexus causes other tears to open from time to time. Occasionally, its harmless. Sometimes, its Halcyon energy breaking through and finding a new host. Other times, its something more hostile."

Oryon spoke up, and everyone turned to face him. "There are plenty of horrors in the darkness between dimensions. Its rare, but sometimes something comes through. We feel that it is our responsibility to deal with such matters when they arise."

"Ok, that makes sense, I can get behind that." Lilia looked down thoughtfully. "The other question...who was the Halcyon that fell? The one that attacked the Nexus? And who was the other Halcyon who fought him?"

Volaro frowned, and several of the older members looked uncomfortable. Asmodeus and Michael exchanged another heavy look.

"It doesn't matter." Asmodeus said. "We have lots to do tomorrow to prepare you for what lies ahead. I suggest you all get some sleep."

He headed for the door, and several of the older members followed.

Barrow looked disappointed. "Ah, so...no drinking, then? No party?"

Asmodeus looked back at him and hissed. "Do they look to be in a joyful mood?"

Barrow turned back to the younger generation of Halcyons, who were all looking down at their laps or their drinks, contemplating all that they had been told.

"Ah, no. I guess not." Barrow walked out, a forlorn expression on his face. "Guess I'll just party by myself."


	9. Chapter 9

Akator went back to the cabin after hearing Volaro's story. He plugged into the ship's mainframe and verified that they were still on course. He made some minor adjustments to their hyperspace coordinates in order to shave a few moments off their travel time. Efficiency, after all. What did these new cybernetics make him if not more efficient?

He stopped and rested his arms at his sides for a moment, looking out the viewport. He was not sure what to make of the story he had heard. It gave some rhyme and reason as to why he had been drafted into the Phantom Legion. It furthered explained why the Legion worked so closely with the Order of Mercy, which was notoriously Republic-affiliated. He wondered if this new information affected his perception of himself at all.

He looked down at his hands. They were covered by a thin layer of prosthetic armor, due to the burns he had received. However, underneath the shielding, most of his body was still very much human. He could feel the blood pumping through him, giving nourishment and life to his organic parts.

And yet, he could also feel the cold metallic weight of the implants in his spine and head. A large part of him was no longer human, and he existed in a kind of in-between state. He was made aware of similar prosthesis utilized by some Sith who believed themselves to be enhancing themselves. To Akator, however, they were life-saving. And he knew how rare it was for a non-Force user to take so well to the grafting process.

But then, this new data regarding the Halcyons might have explained that as well. If there was some trace of power within him, perhaps that was what allowed him to accept such drastic cybernetic enhancements. This would also explain Quarros, whom Akator was not entirely sure had any sentience left in him.

Although, now would be an acceptable time to find out...

The decision was made in an instant. Akator turned from the cockpit and headed towards the cargo bay. His pace was slow, deliberate. Along the way, he passed several occupied rooms, including a few of the passenger quarters. He could hear hushed conversations among many of his peers as they discussed and tried to make sense of what they had heard. From the rooms of the older generation, he heard little else but silence. The exception, however, was Barrow, whose room emitted the unmistakable beats of club music.

Akator rounded the corner and headed down the stairs to the lower deck. As he stepped down into the cargo hold, his scanners did a quick sweep of the room. He could identify Mitvekzuk in the corner, sleeping on his makeshift cot. He spotted the carbonite shell that the manifest had identified as Haborym. And in the far corner, he saw Quarros, standing at attention in a powered down state.

He had no lights on, no signs of sentience whatsoever. For all intents and purposes, one could be forgiven for believing him little more than a battle droid. Akator took a seat in front of Quarros, and several red lights immediately began blinking around the latter's cortex shell, indicating that Akator's presence had been registered.

It took only a moment for Quarros to power up and come out of his hibernative state. His head tilted a bit, mimicking the motion of one person looking at another. Akator nodded at his compatriot and greeted him. "Hello, Quarros."

"GREETINGS, AKATOR."

Akator jumped in surprise, startled by the loud noise. Mitvekzuk snorted loudly across the room. The younger man turned to see if he had disturbed the soldier, but turned back to Quarros upon observing Mit snoring peacefully.

Akator held a finger up to his lips to indicate silence, and then sat down in front of Quarros. He opened his wireless network channels and requested direct connection access to a local drive. Quarros immediately accepted the connection, and soon both parties were meeting on a digital plane, where they could speak freely without bothering those around them.

Akator looked around his digital surroundings. They were in a digital representation of a grassy field, under a blue sky. "This is unexpected."

"Does this template not suit you, Akator?"

Akator turned, and was faced with a tall Mirialan with long white hair. He appeared young, though it was Akator's experience that Mirialan did not show the physical signs of age as early on as other humanoid species.

"It suits me fine, Quarros. I'm surprised it suits you. I expected something a little more...mechanical."

Quarros held out his arms, gesturing to himself. "This representation of myself that you perceive is how I appeared before my reconstruction. The visual avatar I have chosen, as well as the location of our meeting place, was chosen in an effort to make this gathering more comfortable for you."

Akator looked around him. It was a familiar enough scene. Green grass, blue sky. A tree in the distance. But there was an unnatural stillness to it all. No wind rustled the blades of grass. No wildlife could be heard in the distance. Not even the hum of insects. In retrospect, it was very much as Akator had expected, although in an unexpected way. Mechanical.

He turned back to Quarros. "Is this a generated landscape? or someplace pulled from your memories?"

Quarros face distorted for a split second, and the simulation twisted and turned, and then snapped back into place. "That information is not relevant to this discussion."

Akator frowned. Although he appreciated his cybernetic enhancements, he did not appreciate being spoken to like a machine. "So this conversation does have relevant topics to discuss then?"

"That is correct."

"And what are we to be discussing?"

Quarros looked Akator in the eye, deadpan, and said, "You wish to discuss the theory of Halcyon Energy, and how it pertains to the use of cybernetics."

Akator took a step backwards in surprise. "And how could you possibly know that?"

"The Halcyon theory is the topic of discussion for the entire ship at the moment. Several sentients on board have sought out each other to discuss it. You came here."

It was a simple enough deduction. Still, it meant that this conversation was going to be much more like talking to a computer than talking to a person. Akator was willing to adapt to these parameters.

"Very well then. Let us discuss. What is your appraisal of the story told to us upstairs?"

Quarros did not move, but spoke in a monotone voice, as if reciting a practiced speech. "The story is colorful metaphor for something we cannot explain. Common in primitive civilizations, it is a creation myth to ease the stress put on by sentient minds that cannot understand something they find before them. The Halcyon energy is real, but its origin and effect are unknown."

"So that whole bit about hopping dimensions and such? You don't believe it?"

"What I believe is irrelevant. There is no evidence to suggest that parallel realities exist, nor does there exist any evidence that there would be a way to transverse them. The story told to us is a fable strewn together in an attempt to form a connection between several individuals that exhibit unusual energy readings who would otherwise have no connection."

"All fake then? Not a word of it true?"

Quarros paused for a moment. "It is fact that Czerka supplied 8 individuals known as the Halcyon clan with falsified identification and histories. It is a fact that these 8 individuals worked under the employ of Czerka Corporation for several years. It is a fact that several of them continue to keep close ties with the company. And it is a fact that Czerka is constantly looking for other individuals who exhibit the same energy reading."

Akator was both frustrated and perplexed by Quarros' monotone answers. "Are you sentient at all, under all that?"

Quarros seemed unfazed by the question. "I am Quarros. I have a multitude of functions."

"Where are you from?"

"Czerka Corpor-"

"No I mean where are YOU, the original Quarros, from?"

"Irrelevant."

Akator threw his hands up in the air in frustration. "Is any part of you even remotely humanoid?"

"A large portion of my cerebral cortex as well as several vital organs remain protected by my exterior armor shell."

"Not what I meant. Whats your favorite food?"

"I do not eat."

"You like music?"

"I hear music."

"Have you ever known love?"

"Imira."

Akator was taken aback. "Wait, what was that?"

Quarros' face distorted again. "Irrelevant."

"No no, you said a name. Who's Imira?"

"This conversation has ceased to be relevant." The simulated world around them started to go dark.

"No no, wait! I'm not done with you."

"Incorrect, Akator. You are done." The blue sky turned black and avatar of Quarros faded into nothingness. Akator was left alone in a dead field under a night sky.

He blinked, and shook his head a bit, and came out of his reverie.

He was back in the cargo bay. Quarros sat on a box in front of him, once again in a powered down state. Mitvekzuk continued to snore in the corner, and the carbonite man was grinning.


	10. Chapter 10

Back in the mess hall, Arbokk was reading on his datapad. Adara was sitting across the table from him, sipping on some warm tea. They sat together in silence, Adara deep in thought, and Arbokk quietly tapping his finger against the device he studied. There was little else to be heard in the room until Rodeo arrived and yawned loudly.

"Hey. You two can't sleep?"

Arbokk did not look up from his reading. "My sleep schedule is all out of sync. There's some caf on the pot over there if you need some."

Rodeo looked over and nodded. "Thanks." He poured some of the warm beverage into a mug. "How about you kid? Did we screw with your sleeping too?"

Adara shook her head. "I'm not tired." She said, softly.

Rodeo came over and took a seat next to Arbokk. "So, you guys ok? After hearing all that?"

Arbokk did not take his eyes off his datapad. "I'm fine. Not really sure what to think about it. Either my understanding of the universe has been shaken to its very core, or I've been abducted by a bunch of psychopaths on a possible suicide trip. Either way, not looking favorable to me." He sipped his caf.

Rodeo smiled a little and turned to Adara. "How about you? You think we're crazy?"

Adara shook her head. "I don't. I believe you."

Rodeo was perplexed, but kept the smile. "That surprises me. Really?"

She nodded. "It makes sense to me. ...A lot of things make sense to me."

"Well, I'll you this. You are both taking it better than I did. When I first got here, I hightailed to Tatooine and developed a serious whiskey habit. You two are at least being calm."

Arbokk put down the datapad. "Where are we going, Rodeo?" His expression was hard, stern.

Rodeo raised his hands in a defensive posture. "Hey hey, relax. They'll do a brief here after a while, after everyone gets some rest. Trust me though, its nothing to worry about."

Arbokk locked eyes with Rodeo. "Answer me this, and think carefully before lying to me. ... Has anyone ever died on one of these hunting trips? Have you ever lost a man?"

"Nah." Rodeo scoffed. "Don't worry kiddo. It'll be a piece of cake."

* * *

A few hours later, an announcement went over the PA for everyone to meet in the briefing room. The team was still attempting to sync their sleep schedules, so while some members were bright-eyed and rested, others were dependent on their caf to remain awake. At the front of the room, near the display wall, Oryon was taking notes on the podium. "Everyone take a seat. As of this moment, we are on a schedule."

The noise of the room died down as Oryon brought up a display of a star-chart. "Approximately three standard weeks ago, we detected a dimensional tear in this quadrant." He pointed to an area in deep space, far outside the traditional shipping lanes. "We sent a probe to investigate. It returned with a sound analysis. It appeared to be benign, causing no damage and bringing no hostile entities with it. We chose not to personally investigate on the basis that there was no immediate threat and the tear would likely heal itself in a matter of days."

He turned back to the Halcyons. "As you can guess, it hasn't. And the energy readings coming from the other side of the tear are starting to look very hostile indeed." He gestured on his datapad, and the image changed to a visual representation of the tear. "This rift measures approximately twenty kilometers wide by four kilometers tall. That may not sound like much against the vastness of empty space around it, but it is big enough to be worrisome. Our mission is to approach and assess the area. There are no planets or moons in the area, so the view should be relatively unobstructed. We are to determine if anything has escaped the rift, and then seal it."

Foster raised his hand.

"Yes, Agent Foster."

The young man rubbed the back of his neck. "So, for those of us who never done this before, how exactly do we close that thing?"

"Excellent question, Agent." Oryon put his hands behind his back. "The energy that leaks out from these tears is not of our universe. It is the remnant of universes beyond, galaxies that still brim with Nexus energy. Which means that one with proper training could use some of that energy to charge their Guardian abilities. Once active, the Guardian power is capable of mending the tear. Once the seal is made, the energy fades and the Guardian energy goes dormant again."

"Woah, now I'm interested." Foster leaned forward. "So you're saying we're gonna get to try out Guardian powers after all?"

"No."

"Aw crap, of course not." Foster slumped backwards, disappointed.

"As near as we can tell, not enough of this energy is present to awaken Guardian abilities. However, for someone who was already made a Guardian, who already lived that life, they get a short infusion of their old powers."

"So, all of you, right?" Lilia asked.

"Not quite." Oryon frowned. "Those of you who were paying attention last night will remember that the eight of us that were plucked from our worlds came from different points in the timeline. As it stands, only three of us were proper Guardians when the Nexus event occurred."

Whispers filled the room.

"I'll save you the trouble of guessing." Oryon snapped. "Michael and Asmodeus will handle sealing the tear for us."

Michael crossed his arms, and Asmodeus sipped his tea.

"They've done this for us many times before, and they are more than capable of doing it again. The rest of us are on support detail. We keep the ship stable, we hunt down any hostiles that might have escaped, and we support these two while they do the heavy lifting. Is that understood?"

Various nods and murmurs of acknowledgement were cut short by Arbokk's voice cutting through the crowd. "You said three."

Oryon looked up. "Whats that?"

Arbokk leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. "You said there were three of you that were Guardians, three of you that could use this power when we got close to the rift. Who's the third?"

Oryon frowned and dismissed the display on the screen. "One who will not be participating in this mission."

"What? We don't even get to know?" He pointed at Elder. "My money's on Pops here. He's got that same vibe that Michael puts off." Elder suppressed a smile.

Asmodeus spoke up, his voice filling the room. "The third Guardian has proven to be unworthy of the opportunity to assist us. He remains incapacitated for the duration of this mission."

Adara and Lilia looked at each other knowingly. Lilia's voice faintly echoed in Adara's head. _...the frozen man..._

"Now." Oryon snapped his datapad against the table, making a loud sound and catching everyone's attention. "We arrive in visual range of the rift within one standard hour. If you have any preparations to make, now is the time. You are dismissed."

* * *

Asmodeus returned to his room and flicked on the lights. He purposefully strode towards his armor locker and keyed in a code. The large cylindrical case opened with a hisssss and revealed his traditional black and red armor.

knock knock He turned and faced the door. He was not expecting visitors, and he needed to prepare.

He walked over to the door and opened it to find Michael Halcyon.

"Can I help you?"

Michael frowned. "Can we talk?"

Asmodeus smirked. "Not really the time for pre-show jitters, Michael. You need to focus."

"Yeah, thats why I'm here." He pushed past Asmodeus, bumping him on the shoulder.

Asmodeus sighed. "Fine. What do you want?"

Michael looked at Asmodeus' armor, and turned back to him. "I want to know why you did it."

Asmo covered his face with his hands and pinched between his eyes in frustration. "Oh not this again, you couldn't have picked a better time?"

"Shut up and just tell me, you pompous ass! I deserve that much!" Michael shouted.

Asmo looked up at him gravely. "You really want to talk about what we deserve, Michael?"

That stopped the Jedi cold. "There's blood on both our hands, demon." He looked at Asmodeus softly. "I thought we were past all this. I thought we were trying to atone."

Asmodeus shrugged and walked over to the minibar. "You want a drink? Calm the nerves?"

"Sure." Michael looked around the room as Asmo poured a couple of drinks. "You brought Haborym."

"I did." The large Sith handed a drink to the Jedi. "He's out cold. Figured it was safer with us than leaving back somewhere." He sighed and sat on the bed. "I made a mistake."

Michael nearly spit out the liquor he was drinking. "Say what?"

Asmodeus looked down at his drink in shame. "I was wrong. I was so wrong, Michael. I thought I was being selfless and in the end I just made everything so much worse."

Michael sat down in a chair facing the large man. "What were you thinking?"

Asmodeus took a drink. "These tears, they kept opening. And we kept closing them, and each time it got more and more dangerous. I suspected that it was you and me, the residual guardian energy, the two of us who came in physical contact with the Nexus. I figured it was the combination of you and me together that was throwing everything off, making the tears."

Michael sat back, starting to understand. "So you tried to remove yourself from the equation."

He nodded. "I needed to get away. I figured if I put a galaxy between you and me it might stop the tears from happened. But I couldn't risk anyone following me, and I didn't want the Legion to think I had abandoned them. So I faked my death. I drugged you, altered your memories, faked a holo-transmission to look like it had caught you in the act of murdering me."

"Yeah see, thats the part I didn't get. Why was that necessary?"

"If the Legion and the Order were at war with each other, it would distract anyone from coming after me. I put Haborym in charge, thinking he was too unstable to organize the Legion into actually attacking the Order. And I assumed you would be level-headed enough to help get the Legion stabilized again." He looked up at Michael. "I never thought you'd take killing me so hard, and I never figured Haborym would become as dangerous as he did. Michael...I'm sorry."

Michael nodded. He reached out and put a hand on Asmodeus' shoulder. "Asmo...big guy...that was really, really karking stupid of you."

Asmodeus chuckled and gasped down the last of his drink. "I know. And I'll have plenty of amends to make to the Legion. But for now, I'm just glad to be back."

"Yeah, where did you go?"

"Deep space. I was hunting out more tears, trying to get through them."

"Did it work?"

Asmo shook his head. "I was able to get close a couple of times, but the breach is hard to get through. It took more power and energy than I had. But along the way, I glimpsed into several dark universes, and what I saw scared me. It scared me enough to come out of my exile."

Michael crossed his arms. "Are you afraid something is out there? You think somethings trying to break through?"

Asmodeus shook his head again. "I don't know. All I knew is that if something like that ever did happen, then I knew where I wanted to be."

Michael nodded, then sighed. "Alright you fat, pig-headed asshole. Thats good enough for me."

Asmodeus looked up, and Michael was holding his Sword out to him. "Take it, jerk. It belongs with you."

"Thank you, Michael. I won't forget this." Asmodeus reached out and took the hilt of the sword, feeling its familiar weight. He could not contain the smile on his face, it was like being reunited with an old friend.

"This doesn't mean I've forgiven you." Michael turned towards the door.

"I didn't expect you to."

"Yeah, I know." Michael checked the time, and turned back to Asmodeus. "Better suit up. It's time." He closed the door.

Asmodeus turned back to his armor and lifted his helmet. He grinned, and placed it over his head. "Let's do it."


	11. Chapter 11

"Everybody get ready, we'll be dropping out of hyperspace in five minutes!"

The mood on the ship was tense, and Barrow's announcement over the speaker system was drowned out over the sound of footsteps through the corridors as the team prepared their stations.

The plan was simple. Barrow and Akator would pilot the ship as close to the Rift as possible. Once they were close enough, Asmodeus and Michael would be able to tap into the Nexus energy spilling through and fuel their Guardian abilities. They would use what little time they had with this power to seal the Rift.

Meanwhile, the rest of the crew would be working to stabilize and repair the ship as the Nexus energy threatened to tear it apart. A small team was set aside to pursue and neutralize any hostile life forms that may escape in the process. Rodeo would be monitoring the situation from the command room and giving on-the-fly instructions. Elder and Oryon would be on standby in case of a medical emergency.

Lilia held her arms close to her body. She was stationed at the port side observation deck and tasked with calling out any stragglers that might escape through the Rift. Adara had the same duty and was stationed on the starboard side deck. She was nervous, and wanted to have her friend nearby.

The young Jedi pulled out her commlink. "Adara, you ready over there?"

There was a moment of silence, and the comm clicked to life. "Yes. Are you?"

Lilia spoke into the device. "Of course."

"Everybody dig in, here we go!" Barrow's voice rang through the ship, and there was a sudden lurch as the ship dropped out of hyperspace.

Lilia stumbled a bit as the ship rattled around, and then gasped when she looked out the transparisteel window.

In space, there is very little to translate sense of scale. An object can be described as X meters wide and Y meters tall, but it means little to the imagination until seen with your own eyes. As near as Lilia could, the anomaly she was looking at was larger than her brain could process. The Rift defied comprehension, a scale so immense that the mind tried to compensate for the impossibility that it was perceiving and failed.

Alone in a black sea, the Rift was a tear. She had expected it to look a certain way, like when her robe caught on a sharp bit of debris and ripped. And in a way, it did look like that, but it was not a passive event, like the tear in her robe. It was hostile, violent, and angry. Waves of black energy poured through it, swirls of noxious gasses and lightning storms sprayed around it. And while it made no sound in the vacuum of space, in Lilia's mind she could hear a dark and angry scream, as though it were a vast mouth roaring in anger.

Nothing they could have told her would have prepared her for this.

"Alright people, this is a big one. Lets get a ready check! Guardian team, sign in!" Barrow was uncharacteristically focused, so unlike his usual jovial self.

Over the intercom, the various team members called in. Asmodeus and Michael were tightening buckles on their armor. Asmodeus hit the intercom button next to the airlock. "Asmodeus and Michael, signing in."

""Medical team!"

"Oryon and Elder, signing in."

"Pursuit team!"

"This is Alan. I've got Quarros, Arbokk, and Bakurro standing by."

"Suuport team!"

"Volaro and Foster checking in."

"Scouting!"

Lilia raised the commlink to her lips to check in, but Adara beat her to it. "This is Adara, Lilia and I are standing by."

"Very good. This is Barrow. Akator and I will be piloting your flight today. Thank you for choosing Halcyon Air." Lilia could imagine Elder rolling his eyes again. "Im turning the comms over to Rodeo for coordination."

 _Wait...that wasn't everyone...who didn't check in?_

"Alright everyone, this is Rodeo. This is one of the largest Rifts we've ever attempted to close, so I'm grateful for the extra manpower we have today. I'm going to have Barrow and Akator take us in close. Its going to get a little rough in here as that thing hits us. It's gonna fight back, so everyone grab hold of something! Here we go, take us in fellas."

Lilia sat in an armchair near the observation window and buckled in. She took a deep breath as the ship swerved towards the mighty energy source.

* * *

Asmodeus gripped the edge of the airlock, standing by ready to open it. Michael was putting on his deep space gear, complete with a golden facemask. Asmodeus' armor was preset for short term deep space exposure, and he didn't expect to be exposed any longer than neccesary. The ship shuddered as it was hit with a wave of energy. Asmodeus checked his armor seals one last time.

"You ready?" Michael clicked his facemask down. Asmodeus could already see faint tendrils of golden energy emitting from his hands. They were getting close.

"You going to shove me out when we're finished again?"

"I haven't decided yet, we'll see how it goes." Michael grabbed the opposite side of the airlock and bowed his head in mediation.

The ship shook violently, but both men were firmly planted and did not lose balance. Rodeo's voice popped over their helmet intercomms. "Okay guys, we're right up on it! Hit it!"

Both men reached up in unison and hit the airlock release, a practiced and subconcious unity formed between them. The airlock opened and there was a forceful whooooosh as the air was sucked out. Before them in the grand emptiness of black space was the Rift. Enormous, violent, and hostile. Tendrils of energy reached out for the ship like great tentacles pulling in its prey. It was not unlike staring into the crushing jaw of a black hole, but instead of pure black, a swirling mass of light and energy filled the middle, like the swirls of color on a bubble.

"Try not to get nostalgic, tubby." Michael tossed one final taunt before tapping into the Guardian power. He spasmed sharply, his fists and shoulder lurching downwards as the energy filled him, and a golden aura surrounded him. Asmodeus sighed and tapped in, the golden energy engulfed him like a flame. In one simultaneous motion, they raised their hands and blasted their ancient power into the Rift.

The ship shook and grunted under the strain of the Rift as it gripped them in one terrifying tentacle of energy. Plates of armor sheared off the ship and Asmodeus could hear alarms going off inside. The Rift began to fill with the golden energy, slowly mending and pulling together, like a surgeon pulling tight stitches over a wound.

"Everyone hold on! This should only take a minute!"

Lilia was thrown from her chair as the ship lurched. This isn't right...they didn't tell me that it would be this rough.

She crawled her way over to the observation window. She looked frantically for anything escaping the Rift, but between the broken fragments of the ship and the lightning storm, she couldn't see anything.

"This is Lilia, I have lost visual on the Rift! Adara, can you see?"

No response.

"Adara?"

Silence.

oh no...

Lilia panicked. Was there any point in staying at her post? She couldn't see anything. Wouldn't it make sense to go check on Adara?

Lilia bit her bottom lip, and ran from the room.

* * *

"Come on, you big bastard..." Michael gritted his teeth as he poured energy into the Rift. It had never taken this long before, and he didn't like the looks of those tendrils reaching out for the ship.

Next to him, Asmodeus stood in stoic silence, golden energy pouring from his arm feeding into the Rift. His concentration was unbroken, focused solely on his task.

Suddenly, the Rift lurched with anger, and a great shock wave of multi-colored lightning and energy ripped through space and struck the ship, knocking it sideways.

Michael stumbled and lost his grip. The stream of energy ceased abruptly, and he tumbled out towards oblivion.

"Gotcha!" A firm hand gripped his wrist. Asmodeus had ceased his own task to catch Michael, who now hung perilously over the Rift.

"All hands brace yourselves! Another hit like that and we're in trouble!"

* * *

 _We're already in trouble..._ Lilia thought. She could feel warm liquid running down her face. She had hit her head at some point, and was bleeding.

"Lilia!"

The young Jedi's head was fuzzy. The world was spinning and her hearing alternated between underwater drones and sharp piercing screams. Someone was calling her name.

"Lilia!" Adara kneeled down beside Lilia and covered her forehead with her hand. "You're hurt."

"Are you okay?"

"Lilia, I know what we have to do." Adara's expression was that of grim determination. "We have to get the other Guardian."

Lilia shook her head, not understanding.

"The third Guardian, they said there were three, right? Asmo and Michael are in trouble and there's no one left to close the Rift. We have to free him!"

 _...the frozen man..._

Lilia nodded, her head still swimming.

Adara took her by the hand and led her through the ship. Fires erupted, lights flickered, and alarms blared as the ship began falling apart. They hurried through the debris and down the stairs to the cargo bay. The storage room was in shambles, but the Carbonite Man was standing upright in the corner, grinning.

 _He's smiling...he wasn't smiling before, was he?..._

Lilia approached the figure, and heard a click behind her.

"That's far enough, kid."

Lilia raised her hands in a sign of surrender, and Mitvekzuk growled. "I don't know what yer doin down here, but-"

 _kscchhhhhhhhh!_

Mit's response was cut short as an orange lightsaber blade pierced his chest from behind. He gasped for air and fell to his knees, revealing Adara behind him.

"Do it!" Adara screamed at Lilia. "Let him out now, or we're all dead!"

Lilia was in shock, and every fiber in her being was screaming. But she found herself reaching for the controls on the side of the statue.

Over the intercom, she could hear Foster calling for help. "Can anyone hear me!? I think Volaro's had a heart attack, we need help!"

She slowly keyed in the release command.

On the far side of the ship, Asmodeus was losing his grip.

The figure started to glow as heat resonated through the carbonite, and Lilia fell to the floor.

In the cockpit, the ships pilot controls exploded into flame, engulfing Barrow and Akator.

Liquid carbonite began to pool at the base of the stature, and the man inside started to move his fingers.

Foster was pressing rhythmically on Volaro's chest, trying to resuscitate him as the engine room sparked and debris flew.

The carbonite man fell to the ground and took his first breath in months.

Alan gripped his throat as the air was vented from the shuttle bay. Bakurro and Arbokk already lay unconscious, and Quarros towered over them, still and quiet.

Molten sludge dripped from Haborym's face as he grinned widely and rose to his feet, his eyes glowing with gold energy.

Lilia could see Adara kneeling before the carbonite man, who terrified her in a way she had never known. Something innate, and primal.

"Now then...this is more like it!" Haborym tapped into his Guardian energy and was bathed in a spectral golden aura.

Golden lightning engulfed the ship as the sorcerer released his full fury upon them. The engines shattered and erupted in a series of explosions. The lights went dark, and the vessel with all its inhabitants tumbled into the Rift.


	12. Chapter 12

When Foster was very young, he used to play with his brother and sisters and the other children of the community. Their favorite place to play was in a small river near their farming outpost. When the rains came, the mood was lighter throughout the entire village, and the adults would often let their children take off the afternoon from helping in the fields and let them play in the riverbed, which rose slightly in the rainy months.

Foster was the youngest of five, with one older brother and three older sisters. They would splash and play and swim and for a moment forget their worries and just be children. Their mother and father would always warn the elder children to watch over little Foster, because he was still very young and needed looking after. The children would promise to watch out for one another and then promptly forget that promise as soon as they were out of sight of the homestead.

There was one afternoon that Foster would never forget. He had been playing in the shallow end of the stream when the mudbank behind him broke loose. Before he could call out, he was enveloped in the mudslide and disappeared.

In the mud, it was so dark, and so quiet. He could hear the blood pumping through his ears. He couldn't see, he couldn't breathe, and he was convinced that he would die alone in that black pit and no one would ever know what happened to him.

Fifteen years later, Foster was reminded of that feeling.

* * *

* _gasp*_

Foster snapped to consciousness and gasped for air. He did not know how long the life support had been disabled, nor how long he lay comatose on the floor. The main lighting of the engine room was nonfunctional, and the dull red emergency lights were on. Foster could barely see, and the air was warm and stagnant. In the distance, he could vaguely hear an emergency klaxxon blaring, but the sound was weak and muffled. The corridor outside the engine room was dark, and sparks were firing intermittently from the badly damaged equipment.

Foster grunted and struggled to his feet. His balance was wobbly, and his head was swimming. The artificial gravity was out of sync, and his equilibrium was telling him that he was standing at an angle off the floor. Walking was difficult.

He stumbled and fell to his knees. He felt sick to his stomach, and restrained the urge to vomit. His vision was blurry, and it was hard to think. He almost certainly had a concussion. Foster blinked and shook his head, trying to cut through the fog and focus on his training. This was an extreme situation, and he needed his wits about him.

He put his hand out on the wall to steady himself, and mentally brought himself to bear with his surroundings. The air was thick with smoke and gas, the room was dimly lit with blood-red incandescence, and he could feel pain radiating from his right ankle. At the very least, it was sprained, possibly broken. It was reasonable to assume that anyone left alive on the ship would be injured as well.

That's when a sudden realization hit him. Before the explosion, he had been tending to Volaro, who had suffered some kind of heart attack or stroke. Foster looked around the room quickly, brushing smoke and fog out his way, looking for the elderly Cathar.

"Volaro?" His voice was hoarse, strained. "Where are you?"

There was no answer, and Foster felt his heart drop. He was alone.

What if he was the only one who survived? What if he was alone in the darkness, drifting on a ghost ship in the void? The life support would not last forever in a damaged ship. He'd suffocate, or starve, completely alone, and no one would ever find him...

 _heeeheeeheh hehh hehh ehheee heeheee_

Foster grabbed the sidearm strapped to his thigh and pointed to the hallway. There was no mistaking that sound. It wasn't the ship settling or debris shaking loose, it was a voice. Someone was alive down here.

Foster took a step towards the corridor and stumbled. He was wounded, he would not be moving quickly. But if someone else was alive on board, then they might need help. Maybe together they could get the life support back to full functionality. Maybe...

 _wooosh_

Foster raised his blaster again. Something dark and very large sprinted through his field of vision outside in the hallway. It moved too quickly to get a look at it, but Foster was fairly certain he saw blood.

This changes things a bit. Foster had not yet considered the possibility that whatever was alive on this ship with him might not be something he wanted to be trapped on a ship with.

He checked his inventory. He had a few charge packs for his blaster pistol, but it was a close combat weapon. He wasn't sure it packed the punch to severe damage. If he could get back to his quarters, he had plenty of options there...

Foster tore a sleeve off his shirt and tied a wrap for his ankle. He pulled a small tactical flashlight from his belt and looked out into the hallway. There was no light source out here, and the air was thick and musty. There was a smell of copper, and a salty taste that Foster gagged on before wrapping part of his torn sleeve around his mouth to filter out the worst of the smell and taste. He took a deep breath, and stepped out into the corridor.

* * *

"...oh, kark me..."

In fairness to his lifestyle, this was a pretty typical way for Bakurro to awaken. His body ached all over, his head felt like it had been beaten in, and there were strangle people unconscious all around him. He stumbled to his feet and found himself face to face with Quarros.

"...aiiieee!" He was startled, and in a moment of panic, took a swing at the droid. His knuckles met durasteel with a loud clang, and a moment later Bakurro was kneeling on the floor clutching his hand, muttering obscenities under his breath.

"Ughhh, what happened? Did we win?" Arbokk was flat on his back, and raised his head to see the others. "I feel like we didn't win."

"Something went wrong. Bad wrong." Alan stumbled to all fours and vomited in the corner.

Bakurro wrinkled his nose at the smell. "Ah, yeah. Great. Wonderful analysis. Something went 'bad wrong.' Thank the 'verse we got you to give us your appraisal of the situation." Bakurro rolled his eyes and sat down.

"I dont know, man. Seems like a pretty accurate description to me." Arbokk stood up and leaned back with his hands on his hips, several loud pops could be heard. "I mean, if this was the plan, then it was a pretty bad plan."

Bakurro growled, taking note of the small, confined space they found themselves in. "Where are we anyways? Weren't we heading for the shuttle?"

Alan rose to his feet. "We never it made it there. This is the lift. It must have sealed itself and pressurised when the airlock was vented. We'd be dead if we'd gotten to the shuttle."

Bakurro looked out the viewport. He could see the small launch bay for the on-board shuttle. The gate was open, and the shuttle was gone. Anything not tied down had disappeared.

"Woah..." Arbokk looked over Bakurro's shoulder.

"What? Never seen a spaced hangar before?" He grinned. "I've used that trick myself a coupla times to clear up some trouble."

"No, man. Look. Out the gate."

Bakurro frowned and looked out the open gate. "So what? Its just empty space."

"Then where are the stars?"

Bakurro looked again. Out the open dock, there were no stars, no swirling galaxies, no particle clouds or any of the other tell-tale signs of open space. Just a great big void filled with absolutely pitch-black nothing.

The men stared at the maw and contemplated the horrible and terrifying significance of it.

After a moment, Bakurro offered his thoughts.

"Huh. That's weird."

* * *

 _...where am I?..._

Lilia stirred, her face pressing against cold metal. Every muscle in her body felt bruised, and she could taste blood. The last thing she remembered was...

 _*gasp*_

Lilia scrambled to her feet. The implications of what they had done...

She looked around, surveying the cargo bay. The room was in shambles, crates flipped and scattered among the entire area. Next to her on the ground lay Mitvekzuk, very very still. She could see the burn marks on his armor, and the perfectly round puncture where Adara had quite literally stabbed him in the back.

 _Adara!_

Lilia scrambled, looking for Adara. She began overturning crates frantically. It only took a moment to find her, Adara was pinned under a large crate, lingering on the edge of consciousness. Lilia grabbed her and pulled her up.

"Adara, what happened? Why did we let that man out? Did you, did we...? I mean...You stabbed Mr. Mitvekzuk! You killed him!"

Adara slowly came to, her eyes barely focused. "The dark man...he called to me..."

Lilia did not understand. "What? Adara, wake up! Talk to me! We have to figure this out!"

Adara's head bobbed, she was having trouble forming words. "The dark man...he spoke to me. He needed out. He wanted out..."

Lilia shook Adara by the shoulders. "You aren't making any sense!" Her screams were almost hysterical, panic overtook her voice. "What are you talking about? What dark man?"

"That would be me, darling..."

A sharp, sly voice called out from the shadows. Lilia turned and saw an outline of the frozen man, his silhouette outlined in front of the lone light source in the room. He was a large, imposing figure, and he was wearing a tall golden crown over his head. He stepped forward and his face pulled out of shadow, revealing a sickly-looking Zabrak with pale skin and a wide grin.

"You see, child, I was getting so lonely, so very bored...and your friend here, why, I felt her to be a kindred spirit, you see." He began slowly sauntering towards them. " She was so lonely, so desperate for companionship. I suppose that's why she latched onto you." He smiled and lightly pressed a finger against her nose. "I mean, why else would someone stoop to your company?"

Lilia felt her fear give way to anger, and quickly suppressed it. She would not allow this creature to goad her into lashing out. Through gritted teeth, she asked him, "Why did you attack the ship? We freed you so you could help us."

"Tough luck, darling, helping's not really my forte." He quickly swung his arm wide, backhanding Lilia and knocking her across the room. She cried out as she struck the far wall, knocking the wind out of her. She watched helplessly as Haborym gripped Adara by the face, lifting her to eye level. The young Cathar could do little but gaze helplessly into the monster's face as he grinned wider and wider.

"Now, to wrap up some loose ends. Thanks for springing me, kid, but you're officially more trouble than you are worth, and I am so. Very. Hungry."

In one horrifying motion, Haborym unhinged his jaw, revealing his sharpened teeth. He opened his mouth as wide as he could, and raised Adara's face towards his terrible visage.

 **BAM!**

He never got the chance to bite down. Something large and very hard smashed into his face with the force of a stampeding Bantha. Haborym was knocked flat on his back, his face smashed, his eyes blackened, and the room started spinning. He was blinded by the warm blood trickling into his eyes, but could feel a strong hand lifting him by the robe and dragging him across the floor.

"I don't believe it..." Lilia exclaimed in wonder.

"Believe it, kid."

Mitvekzuk, despite suffering a wound large enough to see through his torso, was gripping Haborym by the lapel and dragging him across the cargo bay. Lilia could see the mark on his helmet where he had headbutted the sorcerer in the face to save Adara. Without breaking stride, Mit quickly dragged Haborym to the airlock and threw him inside hard enough to dent the airlock door.

Haborym quickly regained his composure and emitted a low growl, and leaped for Mitvekzuk, ready to claw his eyes out.

Mit slammed the airlock seal controls, closing the gate and sealing Haborym inside. The sorcerer growled "It's only a matter of time, soldier-boy. I'll flay your soul in hell!"

"I'll see you there." Mit hit the airlock release button and Haborym was jettisoned out into the void.

A moment of silence passed, and once Mitvekzuk was convinced that the Jedi were safe, he fell to his knees and collapsed on the floor. Lilia quickly ran over to him and rolled him onto his back. She removed his helmet, hoping to give him better access to air. "Mit! Are you okay?"

The soldier opened his eyes and looked at Lilia like she was stupid. "I've got a hole in me, kid. I'm not okay."

Lilia choked back a laugh. "It'll be alright, we'll get help."

"Hello? Is anyone down there?" A voice called from above.

"Yes! Oh yes! We have wounded! We need help!"

Quickly down the steps descended Elder and Oryon. Oryon hustled towards Adara, who was still lying on the ground in shock. Elder rushed over to Lilia and Mitvekzuk. His concerned expression changed dramatically into one of shock upon seeing the wound in his friend's chest. "Oh my, Mit." He kneeled next to him. "You've got quite a problem here, don't you?"

"eh, I've had worse..." Mit muttered weakly.

"I very much doubt that." Elder cracked his knuckles. "Im going to put you under for a while until we can get you to some kolto, alright?"

"Yeah, I could use some sleep..." Mit drifted off into unconsciousness as Elder pressed his fingers against the soldier's temples. "Oryon, Mit's taken a bad hit! Are any of the kolto tanks salvageable?"

...

"Oryon?"

Oryon was standing facing the carbonite block, which was now missing a very distinct element.

He turned to face Lilia, rage in his cold red eyes. He stomped over to her, and his typical cold and calm demeanor shattered.

"WHERE IS HE?!"


	13. Chapter 13

"You're cheating."

"I have no reason to cheat, Barrow. You don't have any money to lose."

"Yeah, well. I still think you're cheating."

Barrow and Akator had been trapped inside the cockpit since the fires began. Once the ship detected the danger, it had sealed the emergency blast doors all over the ship, and that included sealing off the pilots. It was a safety measure designed to protect the pilots of the ship so they could get the vessel and its passengers to safety. Unfortunately, if there should be a cabin fire after the blast doors were sealed, there was not much that could be done. Thankfully, these two were no amateurs, and both sprang into action quickly, using the handheld fire suppressors to douse the flames. However, now they were adrift in space, with completely dead controls, and sealed off from the rest of the ship.

After an hour, Barrow had suggested Pazaak, and Akator could not help but agree.

"So. What do you think happened?"

"I do not know, Barrow. I still have not determined the cause of the malfunction since the last time you asked me."

"Your robot brain can't handle the problem?"

Akator met Barrow's eyes. "I'm no droid, Barrow. I am human. Alderaanian, in fact."

Barrow looked back down at his cards. "Alderaan? I didn't know that."

Akator turned his attention back to his hand as well. "I imagine that there is quite a bit you do not know, Barrow. I have neither the time nor the inclination to educate you."

"Ah see, now it makes sense." Barrow leaned back in his chair, a satisfied look on his face. "I should have figured it out before. That smug tone of yours, you're a noble, aren't ya?"

Akator played a card, finishing out the hand. "I suspect you'd not be terribly happy about that fact."

Barrow shrugged. "Don't suppose it much matters now. Might explain a bit of why you are the way you are, though."

The cyborg was not amused. "You'd be best served by not trying to analyze me, Barrow. You wouldn't believe me if I told you anything about my upbringing."

"I grew up on Alderaan."

Akator was caught off guard, a rare circumstance for him. "That doesn't make sense. You are Rattataki. Were you of the servant class?"

Barrow frowned, his face distorting into disgust. "Yeah, you were definitely nobility. I can smell it on you."

"I meant no offense, sir. I am merely curious. You brought it up."

"Yeah well, now I'm closing it." Barrow tossed down his cards. "We're wasting time anyways. We should be trying to figure a way out of here." He stood and went to the blast door, pressing against it, probing for a weak spot.

"There's not much we can do. Those blast doors are six centimeters of durasteel. And without power to the ship, and the controls destroyed, there is no way to open them."

Barrow pushed against the wall in frustration, then sighed. "Alright then. Guess we'll have to do this the easy way."

Akator turned his head to the side. "You mean the hard way?"

Barrow shook his head. "Nah. Hard way would be trying to get it open. That's obviously not gonna work. We're gonna do things my way now, the easy way."

He grinned and turned back to Akator. "We're gonna blow it up."

* * *

Foster was slowly making his way through the ruined ship. His ankle had swollen to nearly twice its normal size, and was radiating pain up through his leg, making it difficult to walk at all. To make matters worse, there were sections of the ship where the artificial gravity was not working at all, and as the ship tumbled through the void, Foster would suddenly find himself flung in a random direction, crashing into a wall or a ceiling and disorienting him for a moment.

Now and then, he heard that strange laughter echo through the corridors. Sometimes ahead of him, sometimes behind him. He had been hunting for long enough to know that he was being stalked. He didn't know what was on the ship with him, but he knew he did not want it catching him.

Foster slowly made his way towards the crew quarters. He had yet to see another living person, and was starting to wonder if he was the only one that survived the accident. This was particularly unnerving because it would solidify in his mind that whatever was on the ship with him was definitely not a Halcyon, but some otherworldly being from beyond the Rift.

 _They knew it was possible for there to be other creatures...they had a team set aside to deal with them, just in case..._

He limped along, trying to trace his way through the ruined ship. He pushed his way through some rubble blocking the corridor, and turned sideways to try and slink through it. When he emerged through the other side, he gasped. A very large section of the corridor wall had been torn away, and the young man found himself confronted with empty space.

He stumbled and steadied himself against a railing, his eyes never leaving the infinite void above him. _I'm not dead...why I am not dead? I shouldn't be able to breathe!_ Foster instinctively grabbed his throat. Somehow, despite being exposed to what appeared to be a complete vacuum, he was still breathing quite normally,

 _This is insane this is insane this is insane..._

Foster slowly started making his way across the hallway, his eyes never leaving the gaping hole in the side of the ship. He could still feel air on his face, he could easily take in breath, despite his mind screaming at him that he should be sucked out into the vacuum of space, doomed to slowly suffocate and die. His hand trembled as he reached the door, and he opened it quickly, desperate to be away from this unnerving anomaly.

 ** _RAWORRRR!_**

No sooner had Foster loosened the seal of the door than it had come flying open with tremendous force, sending him flying backwards into the the nightmare corridor. A beast, a hideous, tentacled monstrosity leaped through the doorframe and tackled Foster. It was larger than a human male, but bulky, like some deformed akk dog with a mess of slimy tentacles and feelers instead of a face. It pushed down on Foster with great force, and the mass of appendages where its face should have been spread wide and revealed a horrible circular mouth lined with barbed teeth. They gnashed and snapped in Foster's face as he fought the horror off with all his might.

With his one good leg, he forced his knee up between the beast and himself. He gave one good push, lifting it just far enough to get the sole of his foot on the creature's chest. He kicked as hard as he could, and the beast went flying out the hole in the side of the ship, floating in the void.

Foster gasped to catch his breath, no longer worrying about the strange presence of oxygen, and watched the creature. It floated for a moment, then righted itself so it could look Foster in the eye.

 _ehheeee heeh ehhhheh heh hhehhh ehhhhhe hheeeee_

That unnerving laughter from before, it had come from the beast? Foster watched as it kicked its arms and legs rhythmically and sailed underneath the ship, as though it were simply swimming.

 _Ohhhh man, I'm in trouble here. This is too much..._

A loud clanging from behind him caught his attention, and the rubble he had slithered through to enter the corridor split apart as half a dozen of the monstrous creatures pushed their way through. Though he could see no eyes, he could feel them looking him over, predatory and malevolent.

He turned to flee, and the monsters pursued.

* * *

"So let me get this straight..."

Oryon was pacing back and forth in front of Lilia and Adara, who were next to each other on a cargo crate with their heads hanging low. They had both been disarmed and cuffed, and all Lilia could think about was how the Council would surely strip her of her Jedi status after this. Adara sat in silence, unmoving. Elder was kneeling by Mitvekzuk, putting him in a healing trance. He had stopped the bleeding temporarily, but this is was but a stall, and he knew it.

"The ship was under distress, lives were at stake and we needed all hands on deck to deal with this crisis...and you two, brilliant as you are, abandoned your posts and came here to the cargo bay, tried to assassinate Mit, and released the fugitive Haborym from his imprisonment. Do I have that right?"

Lilia turned her head and refused to answer. Anything she said would be implicating Adara, and she refused to believe that her new friend could have done this intentionally. Adara remained still, refusing to speak or to even acknowledge the presence of anyone else in the room.

Oryon stood before them, fuming. "Alright. You know what we do to traitors and saboteurs? Normally they'd hold trial, and your fate would be decided by the Council." He eyed both of them, daring either of them to protest the labels he had assigned to them. When neither flinched, he continued, "However, we are in a crisis situation. Expedited ruling and sentencing for the safety of those traveling with you. If I find you guilty, I'll be sending you both for a walk outside."

"Now hold on there, Oryon." Elder stood. "You are getting ahead of yourself there. Thats a decision for Michael, these two fall under the jurisdiction of the Order."

Oryon turned and hissed at Elder. "They set loose Haborym! You realize that even though we've been stranded on an unflyable ship, things could have been so much worse? What if he had escaped? These two could have caused the deaths of thousands more, and I'm pretty sure they have blood on their hands already because of this." He gestured to the fallen soldier on the floor. "Look at Mit! They are responsible for what happened to him! No, I'm not waiting for Michael. I'm getting to the bottom of this right now."

He turned back to the girls and pulled a syringe from his coat. "You don't want to talk? Fine. This will loosen your lips a bit."

"Oryon! Stand down!" Elder shouted at Oryon. The Chiss stopped, and lowered the syringe. "You've let yourself become conflicted, Oryon. Your fear of Haborym has blinded you." Oryon hung his head and sighed. "We dont have to use your barbaric drugs. Let me me ascertain the truth of this matter." Oryon paused a moment, and then nodded.

Elder came over and kneeled in front of the girls. "It's alright, I haven't known either of you for long, but I sense no malice within you. Please, may I search your thoughts, and find the proof of your innocence?"

Lilia looked at Adara, who was still refusing to do anything save for look down at her lap. Elder caught the look of concern on Lilia's face, and turned his attention to Adara. "Child, may I please see your truth?"

Adara did not move. Lilia searched her own thoughts, looking for something to say that might turn their attention back to her. Oryon folded his arms, noting Lilia's conflict. Lilia turned back to Adara just in time to see a single tear run down her dark cheek, and she nodded to Elder.

"Be still, child. This will not hurt." Elder put his hands on her temples and closed his eyes. They both went into a trance, leaving Lilia and Oryon in uncomfortable silence.

After a moment, both Elder and Adara opened their eyes. "Uncuff them, Oryon."

"What? No, listen here, I don't know what you think you saw, but-"

"ORYON!" Elder stood and towered over the Chiss doctor. For the first time, Lilia realized just how large and imposing of a figure Elder made, both in similarity and in stark contrast of the villain who had attacked them only moments ago. Oryon's eyes widened and he took a step backwards in surprise.

Elder sighed, and seemed to shrink back into himself. "Oryon." He said, in a much calmer manner. "These girls are innocent. Haborym was awake enough inside his prison to reach out to Adara and...manipulate her. The blame lies with him, not Adara. She is but another of his victims."

Oryon scowled. "And what about her? Was he in her mind as well?" Lilia turned red with shame.

Elder shook his head. "He may not have violated her mind in the manner he did to Adara, but it was his words guiding her here. And you of all people know firsthand just how manipulative that little devil can be. She is not responsible for this. Haborym is. And I think if you stop and think for a moment, you'll realize that you've known that all along."

Oryon frowned and reflected on what he was told. After a moment, he scowled and stepped behind the girls and unlatched their cuffs. "I'm keeping an eye on both of you." He unlatched Adara's cuffs and she gripped her wrists. Lilia didn't know how to react. She wanted to reach over and hug Adara, try to comfort her from the ordeal she had been through, but she wasn't sure if that was the right thing to do here. Would she take offense? Push her away?

Before Lilia could come to a decision, Elder kneeled down and wrapped Adara in his arms, giving her a wide and tight hug. Adara let out a choked sob and buried her face in his shoulder. "It's alright child. It wasn't your fault. You are among friends, we will take care of you, you have my word."

Lilia stood awkwardly off to the side, unsure of what to do with her hands all of a sudden. Elder stood and smiled at Adara, and then turned back to Oryon. "Mit needs medical attention. I've stabilized him as much as I can, but he won't last forever in this state. We need to get medical supplies."

Oryon nodded. "Can we get him to the med bay?"

Elder shook his head. "I cannot recommend moving him in this state."

Oryon sighed again in exasperation. "Alright. You watch over these three. I'm going to go scavenge, see what survived the wreckage." He moved towards the stairs, and turned back to Elder. "I'm serious. Keep an eye on those two."

"They'll be fine, son. Just hurry, I fear for Mit's continued survival."

* * *

 _Oh, scrap...what did I hit?_

Michael coughed and opened his eyes. He face was pressed against warm dirt, and every muscle in his body ached. He struggled to stand, and his legs gave way beneath him. With a sharp cry of pain, he fell back to the ground, his face striking a rock and gashing his forehead.

 _Where am I?_

He turned his head, still laying on the ground. He was on a strange world that he could not immediately identify. Covered in dirt, with a gray, cloudless sky, large rocky crags in the distance. It would have reminded him of Tatooine if it weren't for the climate, which was cool with a slight breeze blowing. Michael could smell rain in the air, though there was no foliage to be seen.

He grunted and struggled back to his feet, swaying slightly as he tried to hold his balance. He looked to the sky, to search for the sun and try to figure out where in the galaxy he was. But though there was plenty of light, he could see no sun, no stars, nothing in the sky or beyond.

He turned his attention back to the world around him as several loud footsteps began to echo around him. A platform opening in the ground a few feet away from him and he jumped backwards in surprise. Instinctively, he grabbed his lightsaber and ignited it as several armed guards marched out of the platform and trained their weapons on him.

Michael's head was swimming, but he adopted a defensive stance as the guards surrounded him. They were lightly armored, more of a militia than a security force. And there was something familiar about their uniforms...

"Command, this is Security Seven! Subject One Eight Seven Nine has awaken and escaped the facility! We have him surrounded, permission to subdue?" One particular guard reported into his comlink.

After a moment's silence, a voice came through the other side. "Security Seven, please repeat."

The guard spoke into his comm again. "Subject One-Eight-Seven-Nine is outside the facility and armed! Requesting permission to recover."

Another moment of silence. Michael gritted his teeth, ready to fend off an attack. He didn't know what was going on, he'd be damned before he let them 'subdue' him.

After a moment passed, a new voice came over the comm. "Commander, have you been drinking?"

The guard looked visibly shaken by the sound of the new voice. His face drained of blood, his eyes widened with fright, and when he spoke, his voice trembled. "Doctor Passus! No sir!"

The eerie voice continued over the comm. "Then I am left to wonder if you are the type of man who would try to pull some sort of prank on a man like me, Commander. Subject One Eight Seven Nine is comatose in his kolto tank, I am looking at him right now."

The man trembled for a moment, then activated the comm. "Sir, I'm sorry sir, I don't know what is happening, but the man I'm looking at right now...sir, it looks just like him, sir."

This caught Michael's attention. He made a quick decision, and deactivated his lightsaber just before the voice came back onto the comm. "Very well, Commander. Disarm him and bring him down."

Michael folded his hands in a meditative stance just before the commander raised his weapon and said:

"Alright then. Welcome to Czerka, punk."


	14. Chapter 14

"Again! One, two, three, PUSH!"

"Arrrrghh!"

"Again! One, two, three PUSH!"

Arbokk slumped to the floor and leaned against the wall, exhausted. "Forget it man, that door is not coming open."

Alan turned and scowled at the Twi'lek. "Giving up isn't going to do us much good."

Bakurra turned against the door and leaned against, catching his breath. "Hey, why ain't the droid helping? He could probably rip the door to pieces, right?"

Quarros stood in silence, unmoving, unfazed.

Alan pulled a toothpick out of his belt and began chewing on it furiously. He'd given up deathsticks and cigarrios over a year ago, but in times of stress the cravings always got worse. "He doesn't take orders from us. And his programming doesn't work that way anyways. You tell him you want out, he'd probably try to blow a hole in the door instead of open it. He'd kill us all without half trying." He sighed and rubbed his temples. "No, this is on us. We gotta figure a way out."

* * *

Barrow and Akator were keep themselves busy in the cockpit. Akator had taken what materials he could scavenge from what was available and rigged together several small explosive devices. Barrow had carefully arranged them on the door in what he had determined to be its weakest points.

"I'd like to point out, Barrow, that this is a terrible idea."

Barrow was attaching the last bomb to the door. He turned and grinned at Akator. "What? You feel like being stuck in this cockpit forever?"

Akator shook his head. "No, but your plan is flawed in various ways. We are much more likely to damage ourselves and the ship than we are to simply demolish the door."

Barrow sat back in the copilot chair. "Alright. How do you figure?"

Akator gestured towards the door. "Given the design of the ship, and the projected magnitude of the explosions that we intend to create, there is a very high probability that the blast will simply kill you immediately, and likely separate the cockpit itself from the rest of the ship. The separated pieces would be propelled away from each other with tremendous force."

Barrow stroked his chin, in a mocking gesture of appearing thoughtful. "Yes yes, I see." He eyed Akator suspiciously. "Kill me immediately? Not you?"

Akator shook his head again, a gesture that he was fearing was beginning to lose its impact for his companion. "With my enhancements, I would likely survive the blast. Then I would be adrift in this cockpit with nothing but a corpse for company for the rest of eternity."

"Well...it'd be a very attractive corpse, if you could look past all the burns."

"That provides little consolation to me."

Barrow chuckled, and sat forward in his chair. "Listen, kid. Something bad happened here. I don't know about you, but I smell sabotage." He pointed towards the door. "That means that the rest of our buddies are trapped somewhere on the other side of this door with someone who means to kill them. Now, I can't stand by when there's a chance that we could maybe get out of here and go do something incredibly stupid and heroic!"

Akator frowned again. "We are not Heroes, Barrow."

Barrow sighed, and his smile faded. "Listen, kid. It's part of the territory. You're a Halcyon now, like it or not." He grinned. "Light side, Dark side, Empire, Republic. It doesn't matter. We're heroes. It's just what we do." He lifted the makeshift detonator. "Now, let's get the stupid out of the way first."

Akator sighed and braced himself. Barrow took position next to the nav terminal, hoping to shield himself from the worst of the blast. "Alright then. Here we go. It was nice knowing you, kid."

"One..." Barrow flicked open the safety release.

"Two..." He put his thumb on the ignition switch.

"Thr-"

The door opened with a whoosh and Rodeo stuck his head in. "You guys okay?"

"Kark!" Barrow dropped the detonator in surprise. He immediately realized his mistake and looked down in horror as the detonator fell to the floor.

Akator and Barrow held their breath as it struck the floor and bounced twice, landing on the pommel each time, the ignition switch thankfully never touching the floor.

"Hey, what's that?" Rodeo asked.

Akator released a nervous squeal, simultaneously the most human and inhuman action he had made since coming on board.

Barrow looked at Rodeo in shock. "How'd you do that?"

Rodeo looked confused. "Do what?"

"The door! How'd you get it open?"

Rodeo's expression of confusion lingered. He slowly raised his hand and pointed to the door switch. "Emergency release?"

Akator and Barrow stood dumbfounded.

* * *

Asmodeus opened his eyes and groaned. His body ached as though he'd been thrown from a moving speeder. His shoulders were bruised and he could feel a sharp pain in his side, indicating at least one broken rib.

He tried to lower his arms, but found himself unable to move. He opened his eyes wider and stretched his neck to view his surroundings. He was in a very plain room, dark gray and metallic. He was fastened into some kind of restraining apparatus, his arms chained over his head and his ankles shackled. He was leaning forward at a slight angle and suspended high above the floor. He had been stripped of his armor, which lay in pieces on a table near him. Even his beloved helmet was cracked in two, a sight which would have broken his heart had the situation not demanded his full attention.

He struggled against his bonds, and was immediately shocked with an electric current. He yelled in anger and pain as the shock continued long after he had given up his resistance. After a moment, the room went quiet again, and Asmodeus struggled to find breath as steam rose off his body.

After a moment, a dark and eerie voice came over the intercom. "Asmodeus, of the Baccalek Nebula."

The sith groaned and opened his eyes again, searching for the source of the voice. It continued after a moment of silence. The voice was soft, delicate, almost feminine, but with an undertone of malicious intent.

"How did it feel, passing through the Rift the first time? Entering a galaxy that had no Nexus, no source for the power within you to feed on?"

Asmodues opened his eyes wide in shock. Whomever had taken him prisoner, they knew far more than they should.

"You took a pretty severe depowerment, is that correct? You had to relearn all your Force abilties and talents? I cannot imagine how miserable that must have been. The power to destroy a galaxy, infinite power, stripped away from you. It must have felt like you had been brain damaged..."

Asmodeus licked his lips, which were chapped and burned. His voice cracked when he tried to speak, but he soon found his voice. "I adapted."

"You did, didn't you? Responsible for the murder of millions, and suddenly any hotshot with a fifty credit blaster could end you. Must have been humbling."

Asmodeus coughed, and blood spattered on the floor beneath him. "Humility...is not...the worst vice...to learn."

The voice turned sour. "I'm going to have to disagree with you there."

Another shock came through the shackles, and Asmodeus roared in anger.

"I'm fascinated by you, my friend. Many galaxies share the legend of the great demon Asmodeus. Slayer of Galaxies, that's quite a title. You'd have made an wonderful Reaper."

Asmodeus lifted his eyes in anger. "And what is a Reaper?"

The voice seemed to ignore the question. "Ah well. Your fault for being born on the wrong side of the Fault."

Another shock. Asmodeus restrained himself from making any outward noise, but gritted his teeth as his body was wracked with convulsions.

"Asmodeus. I'm going to find out what makes you tick. I'm going to push you and push you and push you until I am satisfied. And then? Then I'm going to see how you respond to death."

The tone of the voice lifted, as though the speaker were smiling. "You and I are going to have such great fun together."

* * *

Foster struggled through the corridors, sprinting as fast as his injured leg would allow him. The beasts followed in pursuit, their demonic giggles echoing through the ship. They pursued him, but they were toying with him. Foster had the impression that they could have caught him long before now. Every now and then, one would catch up to him and nip at his heels. He would turn and shoot at it with his sidearm, but the blast would barely scratch the beast before it giggled and disappeared into the darkness. This was truly a nightmare.

He did his best to throw down debris to slow his pursuers, but they were so much faster, so much more nimble than he was, that anything he did was only stalling the inevitable moment when they caught and consumed him.

He turned left, nearly towards the crew quarters. If he could just reach his footlocker...

A tentacle wrapped around his injured ankle and pulled him to the floor. A nightmare beast giggled and began dragging him towards its horrible mouth, that sphincter-like opening of teeth and terror.

Foster kicked and kicked as hard as he could, but the creature drug him along the floor, tired of the chase and hungry for a meal. Foster slashed at the tentacle with his field knife, but it refused to loosen its grip. He pulled his sidearm and fired several times directly into the creature's mouth. Its tongue caught fire and the beast screamed in agony and released its grip. Foster scrambled to his room and slammed the door closed.

He let out his breath, and panted heavily. Almost immediately the door pushed back against him as the rest of the beasts had sensed that they were in danger of losing their meal and began forcing their way into the room. Foster bolted the door to give him a moment, and slid his footlocker out from under his bed.

As the door groaned and bulged against the pressure put against it, Foster pressed the release on the locker, which opened on a mechanical swivel, with multiple layers distributed out to the sides and above, each layer storing a different long range rifle. Foster grabbed the first one he could, a large white Regulator model. He jammed a charge pack into it just as the door shattered under its own weight.

"Oh, yeah, here we go." He fired several times into the mass of tentacles and teeth that waited on the other side. Three blasts in rapid succession made contact with the beasts and passed completely through them, demolishing them from within. The rest of the pack howled in anger and redoubled their efforts to get into the room. Foster emptied his clip into the doorframe, the bodies piling up as each new beast climbed on the one before it.

After a moment, he pulled the trigger and got no response. He struggled to grab another pack quickly, but it was too late. In that split second, several creatures had entered the room, and by the time Foster had a charge pack in his hand, they were upon him. He closed his eyes and prayed that there would be little pain.

One creature in particular towered above him, his horrible mouth flexing and salivating. It reached down to take the first bite when-

 _thunk_

Foster opened his eyes in surprise. The creature hovered above him, frozen in place. Just above the mouth, a stab wound appeared out of thin air. Foster could hear, but not see, the weapon slide out of the wound, and the creature slumped to the floor.

 _kssssssshhhhhhhhh_

Smoke filled the room. Foster recognized it immediately. It was the same smokescreen pellets that were given to him on his first day in Intelligence. The smoke rose quickly, and the creatures howled in anger, looking for their new attacker.

Sounds of combat came from all sides of the room. The familar thunk of a vibroblade cracking through bone, the sharp pew pew of blaster bolts, and at the end, a final crack as boot met neck. Foster loaded his charge pack into his rifle as the smoke cleared and Oryon pulled his vibroblade from the body of the final beast. He turned to Foster, "Are you injured?"

Foster stood and offered a salute, which was promptly returned. "Yes sir. Sprained ankle, various scrapes and bruises. But I am combat-ready, sir."

Oryon nodded and pulled a kolto pack out of his coat for Foster's leg. "We must hurry. Something is very, very wrong."


	15. Chapter 15

In a dark cell, Volaro sat against the wall, his head resting against his knees as he conserved his strength. It had been somewhere around 30 hours since he had last heard or seen another living creature. He was starting to wonder if he ever would again. He had been stripped of his robes, of his staff, and left only in a modest undergarment.

Without warning, a light shone down from above, illuminating the corner that Volaro huddled in. He cried out in pain as the brightness blinded him. As his eyes adjusted, he snarled upwards at the light.

"What do you want now? Can you not let an old man rest in peace?"

From above, the same cold, quiet voice spoke to him. "Tell me about what happened."

Volaro covered his eyes and rested his head back against his knees. "I've told you everything already."

"Tell me again." The voice was accompanied by a slight bit of static, as though it were filtered, or coming through an old squawk box speaker.

Volaro sighed. "The story doesn't change the more times you hear it. I've told you what I know."

After a moment, the voice came on again. "If you want to eat today, you'll tell me the story again. Not an unreasonable request, I would think."

Volaro frowned. The voice was maddening in its simplicity. Very well. He was, after all, a natural storyteller. "Very well..."

"Before we passed through the Rift, my body had fallen victim to the stress of the dire situation, and I fear that my heart had given out. I was foolish to make a liability of myself, when my Lord Asmodeus obviously needed to be concentrating on the task at hand. I had assumed, naturally, that I could assist young Foster with the mechanical needs that would be put upon us.

"I have little mechanical competence of my own, I am afraid. But young Foster is an excellent teacher, and soon he had me performing menial tasks of upkeep. He's a bright young man, that boy. And wise, wiser than his flippant nature would suggest. He was kind to an old man, and when I fell to my knees, clutching my chest, the look on his face...my greatest regret in what I believed to be my last moment that I had caused him such fear.

"I awoke what I believe to have been only a few moments later, my chest covered in burns, and Foster unconscious beside me. From what I could gather, there had been some kind of electrical storm that had surged through the ship. During the crash, the ship was thrown about, and I had struck one of the ships many electrical systems. It is my estimation that the resulting charge from both the storm and the system I struck had jump-started my heart."

Volaro examined the burns on his hands and chest. "One fortunate happenstance in a highly unfortunate situation."

He rested his hands palm-up, and continued. "When I awoke, I found the ship in disarray, and young Foster incapacitated. I immediately checked his vitals, and found him to be breathing normally. I attempted to move him to a safer location, out from under the debris, and found that I could lift him easily. Despite my injuries, I felt rejuvenated, as though whatever caused the electrical storm had somehow invigorated me."

There was no sound from the speaker up above, but Volaro felt the need to clarify this point nonetheless. "I know, I cannot explain it either. I know Asmodeus had spoken of the Halcyon power being capable of such feats, but only my lord and two others have ever been able to utilize such power. I myself have never been able to access it.

"At least, that was what I thought...

"The engine room was in tatters, and I took my staff and made my way to the corridor to see if there was anyone who could help me and young Foster. What I saw, it frightened me to my core. Horrible, tentacled beasts were scavenging the ship, darting in and out of it. I watched as two of them tore a hole in the hull as though it were tissue paper. I was even further amazed to realize that the ship's atmosphere had completely failed, and yet I was breathing normally."

Volaro looked upwards towards the light. "You've somehow created an artificial planet, in artificial space, in some kind of pocket universe beyond the Rift. An amazing feat, you'll have to tell me how you did it."

The speaker clicked on, and the voice said "Continue the story, if you please."

Volaro sneered. "Once I came to the conclusion that the exterior space that the ship was floating in posed no immediate danger, I began observing the movements of the creatures that searched the ship. It was apparent that they were looking for survivors, they showed no interest in any organic material.

"With that thought, I retreated back into the engine room and pulled some debris in front of young Foster so he could not be seen from the room entrance. It was my hope that he would go undiscovered while I searched the ship for other survivors. It pained me to leave him, but my duty required that I secure the well-being of the others as well, and he was safe for the time being.

"I ventured out into the corridor to search for the others, and soon realized that it would be unlikely that I would be able to explore the ship unnoticed by scavengers. I am gifted in the art of Force Concealment, but was unsure that I would have the strength to keep myself completely cloaked for long.

"As Loremaster of the Halcyons, I am quite familiar with the concept of the Guardian energy, and how the Halcyon variation enhances one's connection to the living Force. Despite never having had experienced it firsthand, I was aware enough of what was going on within my own body to recognize that I had somehow absorbed a measure of expended power when I was resuscitated.

"I found that despite my weakened state, my connection to the Force was greatly enhanced by tapping into this energy. I cloaked myself and set out among the ship to search for the other Halcyons.

"However, almost just as quickly, I learned two other things. First, that I had merely absorbed this energy, like a charge pack. I was not generating it, and I could feel it depleting as I continued to use it. Secondly, this energy seemed to be the only thing keeping my heart beating. The farther I pushed myself, the weaker I became and the more pain I felt in my chest."

Volaro paused for a moment and licked his lips. His voice was hoarse and his throat was dry. He wanted to wrap this story up so as to sooner be granted food and drink, but he knew that there was one key aspect to the story that the listener wanted to hear.

"I immediately went straight for the topside airlock, where Michael and Asmodeus had been attempting to seal the Rift. It soon became appartent that they had been knocked clear of the ship upon our impact with the Rift's borders. Being aware that the vaccuum of this false-space was not harmful, I crawled out onto the hull of the ship. I reached out with the Force to try and find my master, despite the fact that I could feel my heart weakening with every passing second.

"I soon located my lord Asmodeus quickly, nearly half a kilometer away, completely unconscious. He was far out of reach for any kind of telekinesis, and it would be days, perhaps weeks for the scavengers to find him after they picked the ship clean."

He paused, and waited for the voice to acknowledge him. He knew that this was the part of the story he was waiting for. There was a moment of silence, and then the speaker clicked on again. "And at that point, you did something very illogical. What could have pursuaded you to do what you did? What was your thought process?"

Volaro took note of the excited tone present in his captor's voice, and continued. "There was very little thought needed. I am an old man, and my duty was and is to my master. Trading my life for his did not require a moments pause or hesitation. I dropped my cloak, alerting the scaveneres to my presence. It took no longer than a handful of seconds for five of them to be set upon me.

"Just before they could grab me, I channeled every last iota of energy I had absorbed into one powerful Force Push and propelled myself away from the ship as hard as I could. The creatures pursued me all the way to Asmodeus. I held onto conciousness just long enough to confirm that the creatures had found him. My last memory of the situation was watching two of them grab my Lord and began carrying him away."

"And then? What happened to you?"

Volaro scowled and looked upwards. "You know exactly what happened to me. I died. I felt myself die."

"And yet here you are."

Volaro trembled with rage, and stood and shouted at the maddening voice above him. "No more games! You did this! I know you did this! Who are you, to play with the powers of Life or Death? What sorcery is this?"

Volaro's chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, and the light above promptly went out, plunging the cell into darkness once more.


	16. Chapter 16

"C'mon, we've got to move."

Rodeo was leading Barrow and Akator through the ship. He was carrying a small mechanical device that looked like it had been rigged together through spare parts, and he was quickly scanning every well they passed as they hurried along. In a scene rampant with devastation, full of fires and destruction, Rodeo was remarkably unaffected. While Akator and Barrow had each collected their fair share of scorch marks on their armor and clothing, Rodeo's trademark coat and hat were just as intact as they were before the crash. Akator was regarding this fact suspiciously.

"Rodeo, where were you when the ship was attacked?"

Rodeo did not look up from his device, swinging it quickly from side to side and studying its readout display. "I was in the comm room, I saw everything. Why?"

"You are noticably unharmed. We suffered enough demage to reasonably assume collateral damage, yet you appear to be unmolested."

Barrow snorted at Akator's choice of phrasing. He muttered under his breath, "I'm an adult, I'm an adult. Time and a place, time and a place."

Rodeo put his back against the wall as he approached a corner. He swung the device wide and watched the readout carefully. "Comm room is a safe room. Designed to be the one safe place during an attack. Kind of like the cockpit you guys were in." He peeked around the corner and gave the other two an 'all-clear' gesture and picked up his pace again.

Akator was not satisfied. "Rodeo, I cannot help but point out that you were in one of the only safe locations on the ship when we were attacked. Given how carefully this operation was planned out, it is not unreasonable to assume sabotage."

Rodeo turned on his heels suddenly, and Akator and Barrow had to brace themselves to keep from running into him. Rodeo stared into Akator's face, his eyes meeting the other's cybernetic opticals, his face grim. "You are accusing me of causing this? You know who I am? You think I did this?"

Akator met his stare coldly, reading his face for any kind of deception, hunting for one micro-expression that might betray him. Barrow turned his head back and forth between them for a moment, a look of distress on his face. Once he decided that neither of them were going to back down, he broke out into a smile and clapped Akator on the back. "Ha! Don't take it personally, Rodeo buddy. He doesn't know you like I do. He's a suspicious little machine, you'll get used to him."

Rodeo frowned and turned away, heading back down the hallway. "If you're going to run with our group, kid, you're gonna have to learn to trust us."

Barrow nudged Akator to follow Rodeo, and proclaimed jovially "He'll come around, pal. Droids aren't real familiar with the concept of trust, you know."

Akator scowled, "I am _not_ a droid..."

* * *

"Come on you stupid droid, help us out!"

Bakurro had been heckling Quarros for the better part of an hour, much to the chagrin of the other captives in the turbolift. Alan had pulled an access panel off the wall and was trying to hotwire the doors open, to no avail. Arbokk was sitting in the corner, tossing his comlink up the air and catching it, tossing and catching, over and over. Quarros had not moved since the lift had frozen, seemingly oblivious to everything around him.

"He's not going to answer you, idiot. He's on lockdown." Alan was not amused. Sweat was dripping off his brow as he folded and cut wire after wire. It had been a long time since he had done anything like this, and he was unsure that he was even doing it right.

"Lockdown? The lifts on lockdown. Is he, like, tied to the lift?" Bakurro was snarling at Quarros. "He's part of the team, right? Why isn't he helping?"

"He probably is." Arbokk caught his comm and stood up. "He's a battle droid, right? Military type model. He's probably got gears and cogs turning in that head of his, trying to figure a way out of this. He doesn't have to move around like we do." He punched Bakurro lightly on the arm. "Hell, you're probably distracting him."

Bakurro looked down at his arm, and then pushed Arbokk on the shoulder. "Don't touch me, lek."

Arbokk raised his hands and backed off, a smile on his face. "Hey, its cool man. We're all pals here. Us newbies gotta stick together." Bakurro kept his snarl up.

Alan wiped his brow and looked up. "You know, that brings up an interesting point."

Bakurro puffed up his chest. "You people aren't my 'pals'..." he struggled to find a way to end that sentence without reusing the word 'pal.' "...dude."

"Not that, you idiot." Alan stood and wiped his hands on his pants. "Any of you guys notice that none of the veterans were on this little scouting team? That the only ones trapped in the elevator are the new guys?"

Arbokk stroked his chin, thoughtfully. I wish I had a beard to stroke. "You think they are testing us?"

Alan shrugged. "I think that's the best case scenario. Worst-case, we're expendable."

 **Target Acquired.**

"The hell was that?" Bakurro barely had time to get the words out before Quarros' shoulder cannon deployed and pointed directly at him. "Oh flark me." The barrel of the cannon was only a few centimeters from the Cathar's face, and he could smell burned carbon residue. "You better not miss, Hombre, because if I'm still awake in a few seconds, I'm gonna-"

"GET DOWN."

"What?" Bakurro was taken aback. "Hey, tin man, nobody tells me to-OOOMPH!" Arbokk tackled Bakurro to the floor just as Quarros fired his main cannon. The sound was deafening, made worse by the intense close quarters the shot was fired in. The turbolift filled with ash and smoke, and everyone save for the shooter ended up on the floor.

Alan stood, coughing into his fist. The impact point of the droid's artillery shell had been severely damaged, but the shot had not penetrated the wall. He must have been using stunner shells. Big flash, decent impact, but no outward explosion. Clever. The outer wall of the lift was now damaged, but not penetrated, cracks spiraling outward from the impact point. Alan surmised that a decent enough push might be able to get through it now.

"What? What the hell is wrong with you?" Bakurro jumped to his feet and confronted Quarros. "What the hell are you thinking, firing in closed quarters like that? You could have killed us!"

Quarros remained motionless. Bakurro looked towards the wall, which was badly weakened, but still intact. "And for what? You couldn't even get us through properly? You nearly deafened us, the shockwave alone could have killed us, and you can't even blast through a wall right?"

Quarros slowly turned his head towards Bakurro.

"Just once I'd like to see you contribute something that doesn't get us nearly killed! You dumb flarking DROID!"

With inhuman speed, Quarros snapped his arm out and grabbed Bakurro by the lapel.

* * *

"We're nearly there!" Rodeo called out.

"Thank the 'verse, I haven't had to run like that in a while." Barrow rested against a wall for a moment, catching his breath. "I need a jetpack. All the cool bounty hunters get jetpacks."

Akator kept pace with Rodeo easily, showing no signs of fatigue. "Rodeo, what is the device you keep scanning with?"

Rodeo slowed for a moment to scan the area. "When the ship went through the Rift, some of the video lines stayed intact. I could see a few of our boys trapped in a turbolift not far from here. They're alive. I rigged together this bio-scanner out of spare parts so we could locate them and other survivors."

All three men looked startled as a muffled explosion could be heard down the hall from them. "Uh oh, that doesn't sound good." Barrow groaned.

Akator turned to him and stated, "They must have learned their strategies from you, Barrow. When in doubt, blow it up."

Barrow grinned. "Hey! Hey. That plan would have worked."

"Come on!"

They trotted down the hall until Rodeo stopped to scan. He read the display, looked confused, and hit the device with his palm a few times. "I don't get it. They should be right here." He tapped the screen. "Is this thing broken?"

Akator turned to the wall near them. "Look, the wall is damaged. And I can hear voices on the other side."

Rodeo took off his hat and pressed his ear against the wall near the impact area. He could very faintly hear the sound of men arguing.

"...nearly killed! You dumb flarking DROID!"

 ** _KATHOOM!_**

Bakurro came flying through the wall like a charging Bantha, sending debris flying everywhere. He struck the far wall hard and fell to the ground. Rodeo, Akator, and Barrow stood dumbfounded. After a moment, they peeked their heads around the corner to see Quarros standing perfectly still, his arm still extended. Alan was in the corner, his face in his palm, and Arbokk was rolling on the ground, holding his sides and laughing.

* * *

Michael slowly came to consciousness in great pain. His face was swollen and bruised, and he was being carried by the arms down a dimly lit hallway. He had withstood hours of interrogation without saying a word, and had taken a great many blows to the face in the process. They had asked him the strangest questions, almost all about his life before crossing the faultlines of the universe. They knew far, far too much about him.

His feet were dragging behind him. He had been disarmed, disrobed, and given only a modest undergarment to cover himself. The entire time, he had met no authority of any kind. The interrogations were conducted by soldiers, nameless, faceless grunts who spoke with their fists and read their questions off the page. A handful of times, the creepy voice from earlier had come over the intercom and requested a particular method of torture. Each time it had, the men in the room had stiffened and paled. It was obvious that they greatly feared this 'Dr. Passus.' But the good doctor himself had not felt obliged to meet with Michael in person.

After being drug through the hallway for some time, Michael was brought to a cell with a large observation window. He tried to struggle, but his strength had left him, and he could do little more than flounder as they strapped him into a vertical harness, his arms and legs splayed outward. He faced the observation window, and in the darkness could just barely make out his reflection. He could see a mark on his face, but he did not remember them branding him in any way. But in the faint reflection, he could just barely make out the orangish design on his face. Intentional, not a blood splatter. He had been marked.

He coughed, and spit up blood on the floor. The soldiers tightened his restraints, and left the room, the door closing behind them.

"Alone at last." The voice of Dr Passus came over the intercom once again.

"Yeah, send the kids to bed, I'm feeling frisky." Michael did his best to sound confident, but his voice was cracking.

"Charming. Tell me, how long have you been a Guardian?"

Michael struggled against his bonds, but he was held tightly, suspended in the air. "Yeah thats the other thing, you knowing about all that. Guardians, all that business, Nexus. That's not supposed to exist in this universe."

"Yes, you and your compatriots were exiled to a universe with no Nexus, to prevent you from abusing your powers. But you are not in that universe any longer, are you?"

He managed a weak shrug. "I'm not buying that. If we had left, I'd be able to feel the Guardian power. My connection to the Force would be amplified, and then there's no way your little deathtrap could be holding me."

"Ah, yes. The 'Guardian power'. An interesting concept. A wonderful myth. But behind all myth is science. And if one could discover the harmonic frequency of such energy, one could learn how to harness it, and maybe even block it."

This caught Michael's attention. "You've...blocked...the Nexus energy? How?"

"We're not discussing my secrets, Michael. We are discussing yours. For example, how many worlds did you burn to earn your exile? How many lives were taken due to your pride and vanity?"

Michael chuckled. "You got the wrong Halcyon, pal. Destroyer of worlds? That's the big red one. Hold on, I'll go get him." He pulled at his bonds, and then fell in a slump. "Nevermind, I'm a bit tied up at the moment."

"Hmmm...so you originate from one of the polar opposite worlds then. Fascinating."

"What? What are you talking about...creepy...voice-guy?"

The voice continued. "That would mean that in your universe, when you faced down Asmodeus, you chose to save the universe. You sacrificed a handful of lives in order to save billions. Noble."

Michael was losing his sense of humor about the situation. His voice lowered and his face darkened. "You don't get to talk about them."

Passus continued. "I've witnessed many alternate versions of the same scene. Always Halcyon versus Halcyon. Guardian versus Guardian. And no matter who it is, or how the pivot twists, it always ends in blood. Oh, you would have made an exceptional Reaper."

Michael growled. "I don't know what nonsense you are spewing, but when I get out of here, I'm gonna..." he stopped suddenly, his eyes widening, his mouth hanging open.

"Ah yes. You just caught on, didn't you? I was wondering when you'd notice."

Michael turned his head to the left, and then to the right. His 'reflection' did not.

With a loud THUNK, the room on the other side of the observation window filled with light. On the other side of the glass, another man was hanging in a harness just like Michael's. They mirrored each other in perfect symmetry, save for a orange brand on the other's face.

"You chose to save the universe. He chose to burn it...

...Allow me to introduce you to Michael Halcyon."


	17. Chapter 17

A monster fell from the sky.

Normally, when something falls from the sky, there is a great calamity. Fire and smoke and thunder. But not today. Today a monster fell from the sky in silence, falling with no great show to announce it. No heat, no fire, no smoke. Just a monster, twirling and flailing and falling. It struck the ground with great force, the impact making a large crater around him and sending a cloud of dirt up around him, the only visual indication that something was amiss.

The monster was glowing with a faint golden aura right up to the point of impact. The glow faded and the monster stumbled to his feet, struggling to keep his balance. He put his hands on his head, felt the small horns and tuft of hair. He growled in frustration. "Lost my favorite hat...that soldier's gonna pay for that..."

He looked around, noting nothing in particular of interest. He stomped his foot and listened to the reverberation it made. He sniffed and stuck out his long tongue to taste the air. He bent down and felt the coldness of the ground beneath him. "Hmmm...never eaten here before. I do love trying new places!" He grinned and slithered along the ground as a snake would. "Let's see if we can find a menu."

* * *

Rodeo led the rest of the crew to the medical bay, where the last of the Halcyon's left on the ship were finally reunited. Oryon and Foster were pouring over plans on a makeshift command table. Elder was speaking with Lilia as Adara sat in the corner silently. Mitvekzuk, stripped of his armor, was floating in a kolto tank with several bandages wrapped around his torso. Once they were settled, Rodeo excused himself from the room, heading back to the comm station to broadcast an alert. Barrow was looking around and taking a headcount, and his face dropped when he realized that not everyone had made it.

"Where are the others? Michael and Asmo, Volaro? Has anyone found them?"

Oryon shook his head. "They are MIA for now. We have no intel on where they might be. However, we may have a bigger problem. Haborym has been released."

Barrow's jaw dropped, and several of the Imperials shifted uncomfortably. "What? How did that happen?"

Oryon rubbed his temples. "Apparently he was not as dormant as we expected him to be. Despite his hibernative state, he was still able to exert influence over a few of our company."

"Wait, I'm not following. Who is Haborym?" Alan pulled out his datapad and did a quick search, to no avail.

"A colleague of Asmodeus." Barrow stated flatly. "Kind of a monster, but we never had much trouble with him as long as Asmo was around to keep him in line. A while back, when Asmo took off, he left Haborym in charge."

Oryon frowned. "We thought we had him under control. He was medicated, severely. Wild enough to distract our enemies with his insane plans, but not lucid enough to be a danger to others. Or so we thought. Several allies were killed or otherwise incapacitated before we were able to subdue him. We managed to contact Asmodeus, who was in exile after faking his death, and he returned to help us trap him. We had him frozen in carbonite, and brought him with us on this trip out of fear of leaving him without proper guard. This was...an unfortunate series of events."

Lilia chimed in, "Mit shot him out the airlock, protecting Adara from being attacked."

Akator was studying Mit's wounds on the kolto tank readout monitor. "And is that how he was wounded?"

The question went unanswered, and Akator was not blind to the discomfort of several of the witnesses in the room. Likewise Alan, a detective in his own right, took note of how Lilia instinctively stepped backwards to place herself between Akator and Adara.

Foster was the first to break the silence. "Wait, that doesn't make sense. You said Mit shot Haborym out the airlock...but wherever we are, we aren't in true space. It has atmosphere, you can breathe out there. That means there is no vacuum. How did Haborym get shot out if there was no vacuum to pull him out?"

Oryon shook his head. "I've already considered that. Most of these larger ships have micro-repulsors installed in the airlocks. They push anything out that might be too stubborn to be pulled by vacuum alone. Thats why you can still jettison things out when in atmosphere."

Akator turned away from the kolto tank and looked towards Quarros, who was standing still as a statue near the front of the room. He tapped a few controls on his arm and opened a local wireless channel to Quarros, hoping that the droid would recognize the signal from their conversation earlier and pick up on it.

 _Quarros. Do you read me?_

A single green indicator light illuminated on Quarros' chestpiece. There was no other outward sign that anything had happened. After a moment, Akator heard a familiar voice in his own head.

 _I read you, Akator. What is your request?_

 _Someone attacked Mitvekzuk, and I do not think it was Haborym. We have a traitor on board that poses a direct threat to the other passengers. Others are attempting to cover up this crime, which makes them accomplices._

A moment passed, and the green light changed to red. _Affirmative. I stand ready as backup should the situation turn hostile._

Akator closed the connection and turned back to the group. They were discussing among themselves their next course of action. Bakurro had lit a cigar in the corner and was growling to himself. Lilia had taken a seat next to Adara, who refused to lift her gaze from the ground. Akator scanned the room and saw Elder, who was eyeing Akator suspiciously.

Akator cut through the chatter by twisting a knob on his arm console. He dialed up the gain on his internal audio enhancer and sent a loud screech of feedback through the room. Everyone yelled in surprise and covered their ears. After a second, Akator turned the dial back down and drew his sidearm.

"We have a much larger issue at stake everyone." The crew stood back up and lowered their hands. A few of them, Oryon in particular, looked furious. "We have a situation on hand. Mitvekzuk has been mortally wounded. According the medical files from the kolto tank I just examined, he was approached from behind and impaled with a lightsaber. For some reason, several of you are behaving as though this did not happen."

Alan shook his head and stood up. "I hate to say it, but he's right. You guys have Adara in the corner over there, and you're trying to protect her. But she did it, right? She tried to kill one of us." Lilia frowned and stepped in front of Adara. Alan addressed Lilia directly. "Why are you protecting her?"

Elder stood and raised a hand in a passive gesture. "Slow down, child. Let us explain what happened. There is no need for violence."

Lilia drew her lightsaber and ignited it. "You don't know! You don't know what he did to her!"

At that, the tension in the room lifted considerably. At the same time that Lilia ignited her weapon, every gun in the room was raised. Alan and Akator had their sidearms trained on Lilia. Quarros opened several panels on his chest and arms and pointed a multitude of cannons and projectiles at everyone in Adara's corner of the room. Arbokk backed away and bumped into Bakurro, who had his weapon out and was waving it around the room, uncertain of whom to aim at.

Alan kept his pistol trained on Oryon, who he felt to be the biggest threat in the room. But his eyes kept wavering back to Akator. He wanted to get to the bottom of this as much as Akator did, but the droid-man was untrained, and was likely to exacerbate the situation.

 **THUNK**

The sound was unexpected, and several of them flinched, expecting the room to erupt in a flurry of blaster bolts. Nobody moved.

 **THUNK**

Akator turned to the kolto tank, where Mitvekzuk hung suspended. His eyes were open, and he was looking at Akator. Their eyes met, then Mit looked back towards Adara. He lingered on her a moment, then turned back to Akator and shook his head.

Akator was uncertain of how to proceed. He lowered his weapon and put his hands on either side of his head. Alan gave Akator a sideways glance, and took the opportunity to voice his concerns. "Hey man, I get where you are coming from. But we got bigger problems to deal with. Whatever happened, its a secondary concern." Akator raised his head and jerked it to the side as his human emotions warred with his programming. "I mean, hell, even the guy she stabbed is trying to calm you down. What does that tell you?"

"HE IS NOT DROID." Once again, every jumped as Quarros' voice echoed through the room. The droid lowered his arms and his weapons immediately retracted back into the various ports of his chassis. "HE IS UNCOMMITTED. HIS HUMAN EMOTIONS ARE ALTERING HIS PROGRAMMING."

Bakurro chewed his cigar and holstered his weapon. "Man, you know its bad if this d'ast bot is calling you out."

Akator calmed himself and stood up straight. "I apologize." Lilia squinted her eyes and kept her blade raised. "Please." Akator looked at her and raised a hand. Lilia refused to move until Elder put a hand on her shoulder. Reluctantly, she disengaged her lightsaber and stepped aside, allowing Akator to address Adara directly. "I am no droid, miss Adara. I apologize for allowing my programming and my emotions to mix, that led to an unfortunate scenario. Please forgive me."

Adara lifted her gaze for the first time since being attacked by Haborym, and gave Akator a weak nod.

"What the hell? What happened?" Rodeo stuck his head back into the room. "I'm gone for five minutes and you guys can't hold it together even that long?" He walked in and looked around. "Jeez, why Asmo thought you guys could work as a team is beyond me."

Oryon was unamused. "Did you find any open channels to broadcast our emergency on?"

Rodeo shrugged. "I found some open channels, but something tells me they aren't the type of people we want coming to get us. Besides, we got bigger problems."

"Yeah, that kind of seems to be today's theme." Arbokk quipped.

"I found a planet. Just one. As far as I can tell, this side-dimension we popped into is damn near infinite, and has just one planet in it. Which means, if we are gonna have a shot at surviving this, we gotta get to that one planet."

Alan holstered his weapon and addressed Rodeo. "That sounds simple enough. Whats the problem?"

Rodeo's face was grim. "We have no control. All thrusters, repulsors, everything. We are tumbling through space, and in a few minutes we are going to pass that planet and have no way to put ourselves back in the path of it. If we don't do something soon, we are going to be stuck on this damn ship until we starve to death.

"On top of that, those damn hunter creatures have figured out where we're hiding, and the barricades we put up are not going to hold them much longer."

Foster was beginning to feel a twinge of panic. "What do we do, then? Mit's in the kolto tank, we can't move him!"

"Not like there's much point, where would we even go?" Barrow was rubbing his head in frustration. "If we have no control of the ship, we're gonna pass that planet and be stuck. You said there's air out there, right? Can we...I don't know. Jump?"

Oryon stared at Barrow in astonishment. "That may be the most idiotic thing you've ever suggested."

"That's not entirely true." Akator found his voice. "Earlier he suggested that we blow the door to the cockpit open while we were inside." The lights on Akator's eye ports widened. "Wait a second."

Barrow grinned. "Hey. Heyyy...hey there. I see that little brain of yours working."

Akator raised his head. "We need to get everyone into the command module. Along with the cockpit, it detaches from the rest of the ship. We can blow the explosives set in the cockpit and launch the command module towards the planet."

Foster shook his head. "Its a start, but how can we possibly be sure the ship is going to be pointing the right direction for that little maneuver to work? You were listening, we have no control of the ship. Engine and repulsors are all down!"

Akator shook his head. "We know for a fact that not all the repulsors are broken..."

Oryon was impressed. "The airlocks."

"If I can wire into what is left of the mainframe, I can open the airlocks and use the micro-repulsors to rotate the ship towards the planet. We separate from the ship, blow the cockpit, and the command module will be launched towards the planet."

Barrow frowned. "No thats no good, we talked about that before. You said that if we detonated the explosives inside, we'd be stuck in the cockpit as it rocketed away."

"I can set a small charge onto the explosives we created and detonate it remotely, safe on the other side of the blast door." At this, Barrow frowned, and tried to interject.

A screech came from the hallway. The hunters were breaking through. Rodeo clapped his hands together. "No time to argue about it, lets move!"

Oryon powered down the kolto tank and Elder climbed on top of it to lift Mitvekzuk out. "Sorry son, we have to hope the machine repaired enough of the damage to keep you upright for a little while."

"Are you mad, old man?" Bakurro yelled. "Leave him! We don't have time to drag his gimp ass along!"

Akator pushed Bakurro down the hallway. "Everyone makes it out."

As Elder and Oryon carried Mit out the door, Akator and Quarros flanked them. Quarros turned to Akator and spoke to him in an uncharacteristically soft voice. "I know what you are planning. Your human emotions are interfering again."

Akator managed a weak smile. "I'm not a droid, Quarros. I wish I could turn off my emotions like you, but I can't. I've learned a lot in the last few days, and I have to act on it."

Quarros considered this for a moment, then spoke again. "Imira was my wife. My daughter was named Merao."

Akator frowned. "They died?"

"No. They believe I did."

Akator wanted to press the issue, but he understand that Quarros was trying to share this information as an act of farewell, and he knew he didn't have time to argue. "I hope you get to see them again."

"Go. I will follow and keep the hunters off our back. I'll be in the command module in five minutes."

Akator turned to follow the rest of the crew down the hallway towards the command module. Quarros turned back to the barricade just as the hunters broke through. When he spoke again, his voice was once again that of a machine of war.

"I AM QUARROS HALCYON."

Hunters poured from the barricade and within seconds there were two dozen of them flying towards him.

 **Target locked.**

"YOU ARE OUTMATCHED."

* * *

"Come on come on, everyone into the command module!" Akator rushed through the group, getting everyone settled. "Everyone buckle up, once I detonate the cockpit, this thing is going to go flying towards the planet and I cannot guarantee the stabilizers will be functional. It will likely be a rough landing."

The crew began strapping themselves into their seats. Elder kept an arm around Mit while Oryon injected him with adrenaline to keep him moving. Lilia and Adara took their seats and buckled in. Akator turned and ran to the cockpit.

He stepped over the explosives and wired himself into the ships mainframe. Within seconds, the airlocks all over the ship opened and began firing their micro-repulsors in short bursts. The ship rotated and pointed towards the dirt-brown planet they were coming up on.

"Akator!" Barrow was running down the corridor towards the cockpit. "Akator wait!"

Akator did not wait. He hit a button on the console and the emergency blast doors slammed shut before Barrow could make it in. Akator stood and went to the door, and met Barrow's gaze through the porthole. "Don't bother, Barrow. I've disabled the emergency release. This door will not be opening again."

Barrow frowned through the glass. "You're getting more human all the time, rookie. You learned how to lie."

Akator nodded. "A remote detonation is too risky. I will remain in the cockpit to ensure the explosives launch the rest of you to safety."

Barrow nodded, still frowning. "You'll die. You'll die during this, you know that right? Die or be stuck in that cockpit for the rest of eternity. Is that what you want?"

Akator smiled. "It's not about what I want, Barrow. You all gave me a wonderful opportunity to rediscover my humanity. I am taking it. And I will die in the knowledge that I am not a droid after all."

Quarros entered the command module and sealed the door behind him. "WE HAVE THIRTY SECONDS BEFORE THIS DOOR IS BREACHED. IT IS TIME."

Barrow looked back to Akator. "Why are you doing this? You just met us. You don't owe us anything."

Akator smiled. "You said it yourself, Barrow. It's just what we do."

The ship shook as the hunters scrambled to open the door. Barrow put a hand on the emergency door and met Akator's eyes, and then ran back to his seat and strapped in.

"Wait, where's Akator?" Foster exclaimed.

*KRACKA-BOOOOOM!*

The cockpit down the corridor exploded in a nightmarish inferno and the command module jerked so hard that everyone lost consciousness for a few seconds as they were violently thrown in the opposite direction. The saucer containing the rest of the Halcyon crew flew on a direct shot to the planets surface, and the cockpit and the remains of one Akator Halcyon shot deep into an infinite void at a velocity so great that within seconds the planet was out of sight.

Akator leaned against the cockpit console. The explosion had been more potent than he estimated. His back was turned to it as it ignited, and now there was very little of his body left. His legs were gone, his mechanical spine had melted, and several of his remaining internal organs were burning. Akator watched the monitors just long enough to confirm that the rest of the Halcyons were safely within the gravitational pull of the planet, and then laid his head down on the console.

"I...am...no...droid..."

The lights on his eye ports grew dimmer, and then faded completely.


	18. Chapter 18

In a brightly lit locker room, two Czerka employees had just finished their shift and were changing out of their uniforms for the day. The sounds of water running could be heard, and steam was rising from the showers. This was a relatively quiet wing in the facility, not as many organic personnel to keep track of, and therefore this locker room was small, as such things go.

"So, where you headed tonight? Gonna join me at the graf hut?"

"Um...no, no. I, uh...got a thing to go to."

"Ohhh, its that redhead from Processing, right? Thats the 'thing', right? You dog." He laughed as he unlaced his boots.

"No, no. I...I got an invitation to the Corral." The other rubbed his neck, his face turning red.

"Holy flark, dude. You got into the Corral? That's amazing!"

"Y-yeah, I guess."

The first man sat on the bench and shook his head. "Man, I'd give anything for a night at the Corral. Is it true that, like, anything goes? Like, all your drinks covered, any food you want, any...ya know...girl, you want?"

The shy man stood and shrugged, shoving his uniform into a knapsack. "I don't know, I haven't been yet."

"Man, how did you get a pass?"

"I, uh...made a delivery to the Hutt, Kalna. He was appreciative, I guess."

The other shook his head again. "You are a lucky guy. That Kalna creeps me out. Hutts aren't supposed to look like that, you know?"

The shy man began tying his shoes. "He was nice enough to me. But I think he was ecstatic about his delivery."

"Yeah, what did you take him anyways? I gotta find a way to sneak some to him myself."

The shy man slung his pack over his shoulder and headed for the door. "Fresh meat."

* * *

A lone security guard was making her rounds for the evening. She strolled casually through the many hallways and wings of the Facility, mindlessly rolling her keys around on their ring. There was so very rarely ever any trouble on Facility grounds, and her job had become rather redundant lately. Still, it paid very well, and she hadn't had any family to leave behind when they offered her the position on an unnamed planet. Not asking questions, that was part of the job, and when she eventually got to go back home, she'd be a rich woman.

But for now, she was content to simply make her rounds, make small talk with staff, and go home to her small room in the barracks wing. Every now and then she would hit up one of the many entertainment venues that were available any time, day or night. This was fairly standard practice on secluded top-secret outposts. Men and women would spend months, sometimes years of their lives completely secluded away from society on these type of operations, and so it was important that they be able to enjoy themselves, or else low morale would quickly sink a project.

Tonight, however, she planned to get home, maybe uncork some nice wine, and catch a holo-film on her couch. It sounded like a reasonable plan to her. In fact, she wasn't entirely sure she needed to wait until she got home...

She took a quick look around the empty corridor, nothing but dark labs and closed doors this time of cycle, and pulled a small bottle from her belt pouch. Drinking on the job was obviously a major offense, but rules were often broken, and she never drank enough to affect her job performance.

She raised the bottle to her lips and took a sip. It was light and sweet, with a hint of Corellian cinnamon. It was good. Good enough for a second sip, perhaps. And maybe a third after that.

The sound of laughter shook her out of her reverie, and she hid the small wine bottle, now noticeably lighter, back into her belt. She cleared her throat and resumed her walk as a couple of staff members came around the corner.

They were a couple of lab assistants, both human, one male and one female. The guard had seen them around, but was not well acquainted enough to remember their names. The male had a neatly trimmed beard, and the woman was wearing bright red lipstick, far too bright of a shade for office work.

Security Guard smiled as she approached Beard and Lipstick, did her best to ignore the slight swimming sensation in her head. "Good evening! Working late?"

Beard smiled and waved. "Just checking in some new subjects to the labs. We've had some new arrivals, and we've been told to expect more."

"Oh? Did we get a shuttle delivery? I had requested some...personal items."

Lipstick shook her head. "No, I don't think these subjects came on the regular shuttle. And they aren't coming in regularly, which is odd. We got two a few days ago, another yesterday, and we are being told that many more are on their way."

Guard looked puzzled. "That's odd, isn't it? You wouldn't think they would want multiple deliveries drawing attention to a top secret facility like this, would you? Corporate espionage and all that?"

"It is not our place to question, we get paid to do the job." Beard was considerably pragmatic about the situation. "The last thing we want is to draw the attention of the Good Doctor."

Immediately, smiles faded. The mere mention of head doctor was enough to turn the conversation cold. In hushed tones, Lipstick whispered to Security Guard. "Have you met him? I feel like I need a shower every time I pass him in the hallway."

Security Guard shook her head. "I haven't had the pleasure. I always hear you lab technicians talking about him though. He can't really be as bad as you all say. He's just a man."

Beard shrugged. "I'm pretty sure he's Sith. You know how they are. I hear some of them can manipulate the feelings of those around them. That sounds like him, right? Making everyone afraid when he's around? That sounds like a Sith thing."

"It wouldn't surprise me. Something is wrong with that man, though. Some of the things I've seen on the lab subjects..." Lipstick was cut off sharply as Beard elbowed her in the side. "Oomph! Sorry. We aren't supposed to discuss Doctor Passus' cases."

Beard frowned and nudged her on. "Come on. We've still got plenty to do." He nodded at Security Guard as he pulled Lipstick along the hallway. "Have a nice night!"

"Yeah, you too..." Guard shrugged and snuck another nip of her pocket wine. Was a boring conversation anyway. She turned and resumed her rounds. She didn't make it far, however, before hearing a strange sound coming from a nearby stairwell.

The lights were off in the stairwell leading downstairs, and a strange muffled sound was resonating upwards from down below. It was very late in the cycle, and most of the labs were shut down, but the lights should still have been on...

She pulled light from her belt and turned it down the stairway, but she could see nothing out of the ordinary. She began descending the stairs, and called out "Hello? Is someone down there?"

There was no response, but the strange sound, almost like fabric being ripped, continued to emanate from down below.

Security Guard frowned and continued down the stairwell. This led to the underworks, where many of the facilities essential services were kept. Janitorial work, plumbing, all the things that were necessary but unsavory. She swept her light back and forth, lighting up various service rooms and cleaning equipment, but nobody in sight. The sound was closer now, though. Like tearing a tunic, but not quite. It was a wet sound. Perhaps a machine had been left on?

She called out again, "Hello?"

The sound stopped.

The guard quickly put a hand down on her blaster. Something had been making that sound, and ceased when it heard her. It had not chosen to respond audibly, which meant that it did not want to be found. Something was not right here. She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs from her mind. The wine was taking effect, and someone was down here with her.

She drew her weapon, and started to back up towards the wall. She stepped back, and back, waiting to feel the wall press up against her. Instead, she stumbled as the ground behind her gave way, and she cracked her head on something hard. She fell backwards and landed in a puddle on hard ground. When the pain subsided and she was able to open her eyes, she could see an outline of the hallway she was just in. Part of the wall had been broken through, and she was laying in a cave on the other side of the wall.

She scrambled backwards. She could hear water running, trickling down the walls. She was in a rocky cave, and there was no visibility save for the light that she had dropped when she fell. It had landed in a puddle not far from her, and was flickering. She crawled over to grab the light, and picked it up. She began wiping it down with her uniform shirt. The water was warm, and viscous.

She turned the light downwards. Her hands were red with blood.

Oh gods...oh no...

"I...smell...cinnamon..."

The singsong voice came from everywhere and nowhere. She pulled her blaster and pointed it wildly around the cave. She could see no one with her. Her hands were shaking and her aim was wavering. "Who's there?" Step out where I can see you!"

A skittering sound resonated through the cave. The echoes made it impossible to determine where it originated from. "Dessert? Oh no, I couldn't possibly. I'm positively stuffed."

The guard fired into the darkness, and the rock she struck briefly lit up bright red and burned with a small flame. For a split second the cave lit up, and she could see the remains of a humanoid shape on the floor around her. Blood was everywhere, she could see the corpse's ribs sticking out in the open air, and the tattered remains of a Czerka uniform. She screamed, and fired wildly several times all around her.

From the jagged ceiling above her, Haborym clung to the rocky crags and grinned downwards. Blood dripped from his chin and his eyes were wild with excitement. "I know it's dramatic, but I love the show. You people taste so much better with the proper marinade of fear and terror-sweats..."

The security guard lifted her weapon upwards and fired into the ceiling, Haborym darting left and right, cackling all the while, his pointy sharpened teeth flashing. She emptied her clip into the ceiling, and the blaster spurted and coughed as she tried to fire on an empty charge.

In the darkness, Haborym dropped to the floor behind her and crept up on her. He slid his long fingers into her belt pouch and deftly removed the wine bottle she had stashed there. "Naughty naughty, drinking on the job."

She whipped around just in time to for her light to illuminate Haborym's wicked face. He grinned and popped the top off the bottle, and cartoonishly threw his head back as he drank it. She lifted the butt of her blaster, intending to pistol-whip him. With his head still thrown backwards, letting the wine pour down his throat, he jabbed with his other hand.

The security guard froze, her weapon still lifted in the air. It suddenly became very hard to breathe, and she felt very sleepy. She could feel warmth on her stomach, and when she looked down, she could see the monster's hand, wrist deep into her sternum.

Haborym finished his drink and lowered his face to hers. "I'm not entirely heartless, dear. I've reached into you and severed a very specific nerve in your spinal column. You'll feel no pain, and no fear. You've soaked long enough. I hate over-marinated meat."

She could feel him gently lower her to the ground with an unusual level of care. She knew she was dying, but he was right, she was not afraid. She smiled and closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift off to sleep. She would never awaken.

Haborym quickly got to work. "Time to find out what kind of ****-hole planet I landed on."

* * *

"YYYEEEAAAAHHH!"

The loud cry echoed through the recreation center. All around the gym, people were trying their hardest to ignore the loud grunting and cheering coming from the free-weights center. Everyone knew who was working out, and everyone knew what would happen to them if they addressed the rude behavior.

"UGH! Oh yeah! Feel the burn!"

Several people simply covered their expressions and left the gym immediately when they saw him walk in. Others who had not yet experienced this unusual sight simply let their jaws hang as they stared. Once, a man could not contain his surprise and laughed nervously. He was never heard from again.

"Oh yeah! No pain, no gain baby! Fight through it! Gettin RIPPED!"

A small contingent of devotees were gathered in the corner. The over-eager sounds were coming from the center of the group, as the clang of metal weights echoing through the room as they were pumped up and down, over and over again. A Zabrak male, short and wiry was counting reps on a chart.

"Just five more, your illustriousness!"

"Hell yeah, Bergu! Have you ever seen delts this fierce?"

"I have not, your magnificentness."

"Damn straight. I'm a karking tank, thats what I am."

"Of course, my lord."

"YEAAHHH!"

With a deafening roar, the mighty and incredibly toned Kalna the Hutt finished his set and dropped the hand weights to the floor. He stood tall, even for a Hutt, towering over his associates. Whereas most Hutts were flabby and slimy, with weak and atrophied arms, Kalna was a veritable mess of lumpy muscles with large powerful appendages. He flexed and admired himself in the mirror, smiling and watching his flesh ripple all the way down his long tail as he pumped his various muscles in a grotesque horror-show of a body.

"Yeahh! Looking beast, bro! You are the buffest Hutt in the whole galaxy, aren't you?!" He shouted encouragement to his reflection for a solid minute before turning back to his assistants. "Alright! Workout over! Business time! What we got tonight, Bergu?" He began shuffling quickly across the recreation center, and his associates had to double-step to keep up.

"Tonight we have the Main Event party scheduled at the Corral, sir, commemorating our twelfth year in the outpost. We're expecting quite a showing tonight, sir."

"Bitchin! Lets make sure we got plenty of entertainment on hand. The Corral is the best nightclub in the galaxy, and we're gonna keep it that way, right?"

Several loud affirmations could be heard from the group as they followed the Hutt out of the Recreation Center and down the hallway. Kalna held out a hand and an aid immediately filled it with a pair of enormous eyeshades, and he whipped them onto his face without breaking stride...er, shuffle.

As the obscenely buff Hutt slid his way through the Facility, people walking the other direction had to push against the wall to stay out of his way. More often, people would duck into the nearest perpendicular hallway as soon as they saw Kalna's entourage approaching, regardless of their destination.

One security guard in particular, however, did not break stride. He saw Kalna approaching, obviously for the first time, and his pace slowed, and his jaw dropped. Bergu had grown accustomed to recognising the signs of a potential incident, and quickly tried to distract Kalna from the guard's impolite staring. "Sir, how much wine did you want us to allocate for tonight's festivities?"

Kalna frowned as he answered Bergu, his own eyes focused on the man staring back at him. "Whatever, dude. I got bigger things to worry about, bro." The guard stopped walking and dropped all pretense, overtly staring at the Hutt's toned body, somehow both defined and gelatinous at the same time.

"Hey! Bro! You got a problem, guy?" Kalan whipped off his shades and puffed up at the guard. "You got something to say, man?"

"Um...yeah. Why aren't you fat?"

Several members of the crew gasped and covered their mouths in shock. One in particular covered his ears and sunk down in the crowd. Kalna narrowed his large, wide eyes at the presumptuous man who dared to be so rude to his mighty pecs. He shuffled up to the man, and bent over slightly to bring his enormous face down to the same level as the humanoid.

"Clearly, you need an education in history." He straightened back up and pounded his chest.

"We Hutts were once the warlords of the galaxy! We were feared for our mighty stature and prowess in battle!" He raised his bulbous arms in a victory pose. "We made the galaxy tremble as we conquered world after world! It was not until we had secured our place in the galaxy that my people grew lazy and fat, content to gorge themselves on their delicacies and forgetting the old ways." Kalna turned back to the guard. "Not me! I strive to perfect myself, earning the best of both worlds! I run the greatest nightclub in the galaxy here on our quiet little planetoid, AND I have the fiercest body you've ever seen! I could crush your head in my hand, little man!" He growled, his excitement leaking into his voice just as a run of saliva leaked from his mouth and onto the floor.

The Guard took a step backwards and tipped his hat at the large creature before him. "Thanks for the lesson, pal. I genuinely did not know that about your people. I'll drop in on your club sometime!"

Kalna leaned back, proud of himself for so smartly educating the ignorant fool who had dared to be so impudent. "You do that, little man. Here, just to show that I am not ungracious in victory, have a free pass on me. One night, and a ten percent discount at the bar." He snapped his fingers, and Bergu immediately tore a sheet off a notepad and pressed it into the guards hands.

"Why thank you, O thickness! I'll swing by tonight!"

Kalna grunted and continued his march down the hallway. The security guard slipped the pass into his pocket and began heading the other direction.

"Oh, by the way!" Kalna called out. "Find something new to wear! You've got some crap on your shirt!"

The security guard looked down, and brushed his hand on a fresh stain. "You bet!" He grinned, revealing two rows of sharpened, pointy teeth. "I'll find something new to wear right away!"


	19. Chapter 19

The landscape of the false planetoid was a barren wasteland. There was no foliage, no trees, no grass. All signs of life were tucked away securely in the underground facility, and everything above was left to rot. A few artificial rocky crags gave the illusion of naturally made erosion, but it wouldn't take long once on its surface for one to realize how synthetic the entire world felt. The atmosphere blended with the space above it, and when standing on the surface, gave a slight feeling of vertigo when looking at the sky, as though one could see on and on to infinity. It was cold, silent, and undisturbed.

At least, it was. Until a screaming crew of unlucky renegade Halcyons came crashing out of the sky.

The landing, if one could call it that, went relatively better than expected. The emergency repulsor pads on the saucer shuttle had been unharmed, and managed to slow their descent to merely an extremely painful and jarring crash, as opposed to a fatal one. Of course, there were some members of the Halcyon clan who failed to appreciate their good fortune.

"Mother****er! Holy ****! What in krutucking hell was that?" Bakurro coughed and waved smoke out of his face as he crawled from the wreckage. A significant gash had been torn in the side of the shuttle upon landing, and several minor fires had been sparked. He collapsed on the ground below him and crawled away.

"Is everyone alright?" Oryon called, shielding his uncovered eye and using the electroscanner in his eye-patch to scan the survivors. His customary white labcoat had been shredded in the crash, and he now shrugged it off, feeling a slight twinge of remorse.

One by one, the surviving Halcyons climbed, crawled, and carried their way out of the wrecked shuttlecraft. Foster and Oryon immediately began salvaging what the could of the ship in order to form as much shelter and supplies as they could manage. The training given to agents of Imperial Intelligence was extensive when it came to survival tactics, and it would not be long before a crude campsite would begin to take form.

"Woohoo! That was awesome! I've got to try that again sometime!" Arbokk laughed as he jumped down to the ground, his jacket still smoldering. There were holes in his pants and shirt, and one of his boots had a sole completely melted away, giving him a lopsided stance. His mood was undeterred, however, as he stumbled to the campsite and plopped down on the ground. "Not my worst landing. I'd give that one a thumbs up for the ride though!"

"Shut up you idiot! Help us scavenge this wreckage!" Oryon snapped.

"ooh! Right." Arbokk immediately hopped back up and cracked his knuckles. "Scavenging, my specialty."

Elder was lending a shoulder to Mitvekzuk as they slowly made their way to the camp. He sat Mit down against some rubble and examined his wound. Oryon stepped by to check it. "How is he?"

Elder looked up at Oryon quizzically. "Look at this, will you? I've never seen anything like it."

Oryon kneeled down and pulled some bandaging off the wound in Mit's chest. It was a very clean cut, straight through his chest cavity. Oryon frowned. He should not have survived this.

Elder read the concern on Oryon's face and nodded. "Thats what I mean. Even with my healing techniques, and your medicine, this wound should have been fatal. It probably should have been fatal before we ever found him."

"You complainin'? I can still hear, you know." Mit's artificially enhanced voice emitted from his helmet's speaker. "If my breathing is causin' you inconvenience, I could still go ahead and die."

"Oh for gods sake, Mit, let us take that helmet off. You can't possibly breathe in that, you need air!" Oryon reached to lift the large bucket-shaped helmet, but was brushed away weakly by the soldier.

"Helmet stays on."

Oryon frowned again, and turned back to Elder. "Well, what are you getting at? You think he'll pull through, given that he's made it this far?"

Elder shook his head. "You are not following me. Mitvekzuk still has this gaping wound in his chest, and it is not healing. His organs are shutting down, one by one. He's already losing the use of his legs. He's not getting better, he's simply not dying."

Oryon turned back to the wreckage as more of the Halcyon crew evacuated and began helping set up their base camp. "Keep an eye on him. Right now we've got to regain control of the situation." Elder nodded, and Oryon headed back towards the wreckage.

Adara coughed and fell from the shuttle, landing hard on her side. Lilia jumped down after her, and began helping the Cathar to her feet. "Here you go, I've got you-"

"Enough!" Adara hissed.

Lilia stepped back, her face a mixture of shock and hurt. "I-...I was just trying to help."

"I didn't ask for your help, Lilia!" Adara hissed again. "I don't need you to protect me! I can take care of myself!"

She folded her arms inward, tucking into herself, and stomped quickly away. Lilia stood still for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. Had she not been supportive? Had she not done everything to try and be a friend? Her expression turned from surprise to sadness as she turned and began helping to salvage the shuttle.

Over the next few hours, much of the shuttlecraft was stripped bare, until only the framework remained. Small, rudimentary shelters began forming, and as night began to fall, a campfire was lit. The Halcyons gathered that evening to mourn their losses.

Barrow explained to the crew how Akator had sacrificed himself in order to ensure that they made it safely to the planet's surface. He spoke eloquently about duty and dignity, and many who were familiar with the Rattataki were surprised by how carefully he had chosen his words. It was not uncommon for one to assume that Barrow was not well-versed, given his propensity for loud, obnoxious behavior. In this, however, he was very solemn, and spoke of his regret for not getting the chance to know his friend better.

Afterwards, Oryon stood and addressed the group. The campfire was licking flames into the air, against a black, starless sky. "I'm not going to lie to you. We are in a dire situation. Three of our number are missing, presumed dead. One has passed, and another may not be with us much longer."

"Oryon! Show some sensitivity!" Elder pleaded with the Chiss as Mit weakly gave a thumbs-up.

"We know nothing about this world we have landed on, but we can say with almost certainly that it is man-made. The lack of stars, the obvious and deliberate design of the landscape, make no mistake, somebody built this. Which means we might stand a chance of getting off this rock and back home. But until we know who we are dealing with, we should be extra cautious. We'll be assigning watches throughout the night, and once we get daylight again, I'll arrange scouting parties to recon the area."

"Something about this ain't right, Oryon." Alan grumbled. He leaned against a plasteel shelter and chewed on a toothpick. "If this place is man-made, why do we got day and night at all? I don't see a sun, and there'd be no reason to make the thing rotate. But we all saw it go from day to night. Quickly too. I ain't got an explanation for it. But it stinks, mark my words. Something fishy is going on here."

"I got a question!" Bakurro's voice rang out as he stumbled around the fire. "Who put Blue in charge?"

"That's a fair point, Oryon, who gave you the right to tell us what to do?" Arbokk nodded. Oryon pinched his temples in frustration and tried to explain that with the absence of Asmodeus and Michael, it was only fitting that he take over. The crew was tired, and looking for an outlet for their frustration, and it wasn't long before everyone was shouting over each other.

Bakurro grinned and flopped down against a bedroll, chomping on his cigar. Adara sat not far away. "That was mean." She said softly.

Bakurro grinned wide again, looking up at the sky. "I just like pissing him off, that's all. It'll take him the better part of an hour to convince everyone that he knows what he's talking about. Maybe I'll get lucky and someone will get mad enough to throw a punch before that happens."

The sound of arguments and shouting were a constant drone against the light of the fire, and Adara couldn't help but smile a little.

"So whats the deal, little sister? You gonna keep trying to off us, one by one?"

Adara frowned and glared at Bakurro. "Don't call me that."

He rolled onto his side to face her. "See, now that's interesting. I just accused you of being a back-stabbing murder-face, and you took offense to me calling you something cutsey." He pointed at her and rolled back onto his back. "You've got potential kid. You aren't nearly as fragile as they think you are."

Adara looked back at the shouting crowd of people near the fire, and looked back down at Bakurro. She allowed herself another soft smile.

* * *

The light snapped back on in Volaro's cell. He covered his eyes and hissed upwards. His fur was matted and rough, and he scampered about his cell trying to get out of the light. He stifled a cry of pain as his joints screamed at him. A tray of food was pressed through a slot in the door. It was pitiful, dried bread and cold meat, but it would sustain him.

"Eat up, kitty kitty." A voice giggled through the door.

Something about that voice seemed almost familiar, and Volaro almost called out to it before the intercom switched back on, and the cold wicked voice of Passus filled the cell.

"Good evening, Volaro."

Volaro chewed on his bread and spit at the intercom.

"Are you ready for our nightly chat?"

The Cathar growled and huddled over his meal.

"You are the historian of your group. I thought you might like listening to a story tonight, for a change."

At this Volaro's ears picked up. His captor had not been forthcoming with information up to this point, and Volaro sensed something in his voice, something almost playful.

"And what story would you tell an old man like me?"

"I'm older than you are, Volaro. By a great many years. In fact, we have more in common than you might think."

The food tray at Volaro's feet shuddered slightly, and glowed with a faint blue tint. Volaro's eyes went wide. "No...it can't be."

He stood and backed away from the tray. Doctor Passus gave a snort on the other side, a cruel mockery of a laugh. "You've seen that power before, have you not?"

Volaro regained his composure, and sat down, pressing his hands against his temples. Think, you fool!

"Yes, I have. Although every time I've seen it, it's glowed golden. Not blue. It's the gift of the Halcyon Guardians. The Nexus energy that enhances one's connection to the Force. How could you possibly wield it, unless...?"

Volaro's eyes went wide. "You are not from around here, are you?"

"I have no patience for games, Volaro. In my home universe, the dark god Halcyon bestowed his gifts upon his chosen few, his Reapers, and we ruled with galaxy under his name."

"That can't be..." Volaro pushed his hair out of his face and shook his head, searching for answers where there were none. "That's a dark mockery of our origin tale, a twisted perversion of the Guardians..."

"Our powers stemmed from Death, which we viewed as the cure for the disease of life. My fellow Reapers and I cut down millions and sent their souls to the Beyond, all in the name of Halcyon."

Volaro was having difficulty processing this revelation. He shook his head and tried to take it all in.

"I just wanted you to know a little about me, Volaro. I have a feeling we are going to be good friends soon." A loud noise could be heard over the intercom, and Passus came back onto it, his tone rushed. "I'm afraid I have to cut our little chat short tonight, Volaro. Think about what I said, and we'll discuss it more tomorrow."

Before the comm shut off, Volaro could faintly hear someone in the background shouting "He's escaped!"

* * *

"YYYYEEEEEAAARRRRGGHHH!"

With all the strength he could muster, Michael Halcyon pulled at his bonds. He tapped into every reserve of energy he could find, and with a mighty pull, the brace on his arm shattered and released. He quickly went to work on his other bonds, and after a moment, he was free. He dropped to the ground, and stared at his doppelganger through the glass. The other Michael had not moved, and barely seemed to be alive. Michael glared at it, and then summoned his will for a Force blast.

 **BOOM!**

The door flew off his cell wall, and people in the hallway screamed and ran for safety. Michael charged out into the hallway yelling loudly, trying his best to look as menacing and frightening as he could. In truth, he was weaker than he had ever been, and in no shape to fight. His only chance was to scare everyone away and then try to sneak off.

People in Czerka uniforms ran down the hallway, brushing past him and heading into hallways and offices. He looked around for anything that might look familiar. He started to head down the hallway, when he heard someone shout "He's escaped!"

He turned, and was facing a long hallway, full of people. At the end of it stood a wry, thin man. He was of medium height, clad completely in black, and held a cane in his right hand. His face was pallid, his features were sharp, and his black hair was slicked backwards. It was Doctor Passus himself.

Michael found himself frozen in place, his eyes locked onto Passus. The doctor tapped his cane on the ground and slowly began walking towards the escaped prisoner.

 _Run! You have to run, now!_ Michael was screaming at his legs to carry him away, but he was unable to move. A cold, icy pit formed in his stomach, and he could do nothing but watch as Passus slowly made his way towards him.

The doctor himself was in no hurry, slowly pacing his way and watching Michael. The rest of the world seemed to have calmed itself, and the Facility personnel went back about their duties, as though nothing odd had happened at all.

Passus approached Michael, and they met face to face for the first time. Michael was breaking out in a cold sweat, and Passus was examining Michael with his cold, unsmiling stare. "Now now, Michael." His voice was like ice creeping along durasteel. "We can't have you running around like that. I still need you."

He extended a long bony finger and pressed it against the Jedi's chest. Immediately blue shards of ice formed under Michael's skin. He tried to cry out in pain, but in his paralyzed state, he could do little more than moan as his eyes did the screaming for him.

Passus leaned in close and whispered to him. "But I don't need all of you, understand?" He pulled back his hand and the blue shards disappeared from Michael's body. He looked over Michael's shoulder and spotted a security guard down the hall, leaning against the wall with his hat pulled low, grinning. "Take him back to his cell."

"Right-o boss! And let me just say, a very impressive display." The security guard cheerily sauntered down the hallway and grabbed Michael by the arm. "Time to go, beefcake. Wouldn't want you to get a tan in all this light."

Michael's mind was still fuzzy from the paralysis, but he found he could move his legs again. The security guard led him back to his cell and reattached his bonds. As Michael's brain began to clear, he felt a familiarity, a presence nearby.

"Welp, that oughta hold you." The guard waltzed over to the door and waved to Michael. "Have fun!"

The cell door closed, and Michael slumped back into his chains.


	20. Chapter 20

Day and night passed seamlessly. The Halcyon refugees maintained their camp, began conserving the rations they were able to scavenge from the wreckage of the ship. Things were beginning to look grim, as the rationed food would run out soon and there had been no sign of wildlife or edible vegetation on this strange world they had landed upon. It soon became apparent that attempting to maintain a centralized stronghold was unfeasible, and the general unrest and distrust among the group was proving an unmanageable distraction.

Still, bonds were forming in unlikely places. Bakurro and Adara could often be seen together, occasionally sparring and sometimes just sitting together. Oryon had taken Alan aside and was instructing him in various medical techniques. Alan had served some time as a field medic on Corellia, and Oryon was expanding upon that training in the hope that he could assist with Mitvekzuk's recovery. Elder and Lilia were spending a lot of time in meditation, reflecting on the Force. Arbokk and Barrow invented games to pass the time, most of which involved making their best efforts at annoying the ever-stoic Quarros. Foster and Rodeo spent time comparing techniques and scouting the outlying areas. But these pairs and groups were having a difficult time coming together. Little did they know that before the clan could be unified, it would have to be broken completely.

Morning rose, and Foster was waking up. This, in and of itself, was unusual, as Foster had been on the early lookout shift, and should not have been asleep. It took a moment for the haze to clear from his mind, and when it did he jolted awake! Something was wrong...

He rubbed his neck and felt a slight swelling. He had been drugged. Someone had drugged him! He staggered to his feet and lifted his rifle. Were they under attack? He stumbled through the camp, trying to find his voice. The ground seemed uneven, and he fell to all fours. He managed to weakly cry out an unintelligible moan before vomiting.

Fortunately, the sound was enough to rouse Oryon, who immediately rushed to Foster's side to assist him. "Wake up, everyone! We have a problem!"

One by one, the Halcyons emerged from their shelters, chattering amongst themselves. Two, however, were conspicuously absent.

"Where is Bakurro?"

"He's not in his tent!"

"Has anyone seen Adara?"

"They're gone, they're both gone!"

Foster was gripping his neck and struggling to his feet. "Someone drugged me. Someone drugged me so I wouldn't see them attack us...and now Bakurro and Adara are missing." He locked eyes with Rodeo, who turned back to his hut and started packing gear.

Oryon, keenly observant as always, followed Rodeo inside. "What are you doing?"

"We're not alone on this rock. Someone snuck in and took two of our own. A clear attack on us." He slung his pack around his shoulder. "I'm not going to sit back and let that stand."

"We cannot just venture out into nowhere, Rodeo. We don't know what's out there."

"We won't find out just sitting here, Blue."

Rodeo stood on a crate and addressed the crowd. "Listen up! Someone came in here while we were sleeping and took two of our own." The chatter died down. "Now I know we all got some problems with each other, but we look after ours. I'm going out there to get them back. Some of you need to stay here, maintain camp. But if a few of you want to come with me..." Arbokk cracked his knuckles. "...then we head out in ten minutes."

He stepped down from the crate, and the chatter immediately resumed. There was a focus now, a goal. Within minutes, a rescue team was formed. Rodeo, Barrow, Arbokk, Foster, and Quarros made their preparations to go after their missing compatriots. Oryon was arguing with Rodeo about the direction they were planning to head in.

"Why that way? We have no navigational markers, you are picking a random direction and hoping you get lucky. This is madness."

Rodeo sighed. "Look, thats the direction Foster was facing, so obviously whoever snuck in here felt like they had to take him out so as to get in unseen. Adara and Bakurro's shelters were also on this side of the campsite, which makes sense if whoever it was had intended to grab the two closest and take off. So we are heading South."

Oryon was exacerbated. "South? How can you possibly know that direction to be south? There's no sun, no stars, you have no idea!"

Rodeo pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know. It feels like South. I think that's the way, that's where we are going." Oryon through up his hands and walked away, muttering to himself. He passed Elder, who was softly walking up to Rodeo.

"Be careful out there, son. I have a bad feeling about this."

Rodeo looked from side to side, making sure no one was eavesdropping. "Is this about...you know? The thing..."

Elder shrugged, a curious gesture coming from the wizened old man. "I do not know. But everything about this is wrong."

Rodeo leaned in close. "Hey listen, I've kept my mouth shut about the little secret you guys have got going on, but if you have some kind of information that could help us out here..."

"I would happily volunteer it. I'm just telling you to be careful."

Rodeo looked at Elder disapprovingly, searching for any sign of deception. "Alright. You know me. Just take care of these guys, would ya? Ol' Blue is fit to pop an eye out."

Elder chuckled. "I will look after them, as always."

They smiled at each other and shook hands, and then Rodeo led his team off into the desert.

* * *

Asmodeus Halcyon was dead.

His sizable body lay on an operating table, with several medical droids standing around him. His chest was open, and his heart had stopped beating. His lungs were deflated, and blood was growing cold in his veins. After centuries of life, the great Asmodeus had finally met his death.

"Alright. That's enough, I think." Dr Passus coldly remarked from the corner of the room, hidden in the shadows. "Let's do it again."

One of the medical droids went to work inside Asmodeus' chest cavity, and a moment later he was breathing again. His eyes popped open, and he gasped for air. He turned to Passus, who was watching the operation without expression.

"Why...why won't you let me die?"

The response was flat. "You cannot die."

Asmodeus took several shallow breaths, and muttered, "I know a few people who would be greatly disappointed to hear that."

"Not here, I mean." Passus stepped away from the wall and planned his cane in front of him. The head of the cane, a silver skull emblem, sparkled under the bright light. "In this pocket dimension we can sieve off enough of the Nexus energy to power our experimentations. Both sides of the Void converge here, the power that strengthens life, and the power that strengthens death. Therefore, anyone who has been touched by Nexus energy, while in this pocket dimension, cannot experience death. Not permanently, anyways."

He stepped over to Asmodeus and looked inside him. His organs were turning purple with oxygenation, straining under the pressure of being revived.

"However, I have long wanted to have the Destroyer of Worlds on my table, and I cannot resist the temptation to push the theory."

Asmodeus shook his head. "That's not me. That's not me."

Passus was unamused. "That is not you, anymore, perhaps. But you are responsible for the death of millions, are you not? Before your great conversion in the starways of the Nexus?" He leaned in close to Asmodeus. "In your former life, were you not the Devil himself to countless civilations?"

Asmodeus let his head drop, and sighed. A tear ran down the side of his face.

Passus stood straight. "I think its only fair that you be allowed to atone for those millions, maybe billions of deaths that you caused." He rapped his cane against the floor. "And so, here is where you will remain. The droids will kill you, let you taste death, and then revive you. Forever, and ever, until we find out exactly how many times a Halcyon can cheat death. I expect it to take a very, very long time."

He pulled a timepiece from his coat pocket. "But for now, I must excuse myself. Another appointment to attend. I'll be back to check on your progress later." He pointed upwards, at the camera filming the procedure. "I'll be recording the whole thing, so do give me the pleasure of a scream now and then. Ta."

Passus left the room, and Asmodeus died again.

* * *

Michael hung from his harness, struggling against his chains. It was no use, since his last escape his bonds had been fortified, and now it was a struggle to even breathe. He could do little except for stare at his doppelganger in front of him.

It was fascinating, to an extent. The man across the room looked identical to Michael in every way, save for an orange brand on his face. The same build, the same hair, even the same scar across the bridge of his nose.

 _A clone, maybe?_

"Hey! psst! Hey! Can you hear me?"

The other did not move. Michael knew he was alive, he could see the man breathing. But in the several days since being brought in here he had not once seen the other man move once. He did not eat, did not speak, he did nothing but hang in the harness and breathe slowly.

"Hey, pal. What's your name?"

"You know his name."

Michael jumped, his heart leaping into his throat. Dr Passus was standing next to him, and Michael had not heard nor seen him enter the room.

"Holy cripes! That's a neat trick, doc. Damn near gave me a heart attack."

"Perhaps later."

Michael looked worried. "That sounds freakishly ominous coming from you, you know that, right?"

Passus reached out and touched Michael's arm. A searing pain shot through his entire body, and he screamed in agony. His skin turned a chalky white, dark circles formed on his face, and his eyes turned blood red.

"You've been hiding a Dark Side corruption for some time now, haven't you?"

Rage built inside Michael's soul, and he roared at Passus. "What did you do?"

Passus was unfazed. "I removed the antibodies holding back the physical manifestation of your corruption. You've spent years building up a medicinal defense against it, and I've removed in less time than it takes to blink. How does that make you feel?"

Michael felt a surge of Dark Side energy inside him and shouted in Passus' face. The tactic was designed to Force Push the opponent back with tremendous power, but Passus did not so much as flinch. Michael growled and settled back into his chains.

"You may struggle, if you wish. But you have no power here, I've seen to that." He gestured to the other man in chains. "You know his name. It is Michael Halcyon, same as you. He is the version of you from my home universe, where the Nexus powers the force of Death. At one point, he was my greatest General. He commanded my armies and we spread the gospel of death throughout the galaxy."

He turned back to Michael. "And then, one day, he dropped into a coma. Mid-sentence, even. I was baffled. He was living, breathing, but his soul had departed."

He tapped his cane against the floor. "Eventually I learned of the many other dimensions that the Nexus touched, and learned the story of the Halcyons, who had been ripped from time and space and exiled into a galaxy where the Nexus held no power."

Michael's eyes widened as the puzzle began coming together in his mind.

"I finally deduced what had happened. When the Ancients pulled the Halcyons from their respective timelines, too many of you. And I don't mean you as in your little band of compatriots. I mean YOU. The grabbed too many Michael Halcyons. And so my faithful servant had his soul ripped from his body and deposited into yours, and you've been something of an anomaly ever since, haven't you?"

It was becoming clear to Michael now. He knew he had absorbed a Corruption in the exile, but he had always assumed it was from Asmodeus. Asmodeus, who had been a great monster, a demon in legend, who suddenly found himself working for peace, for reason. He had naturally assumed that he had somehow mistakenly been saddled with whatever evil had previously infected Asmodeus.

And yet, now the truth was out. There was more than one Michael Halcyon, and he had the poor fortune to be saddled with the soul of the most evil version of himself.

"Fret not, friend Michael. I need my General back. I plan to extract the Corrupted soul from your person and deposit it back into my faithful servant. Then, we'll see how much you really hate yourself."

* * *

 **Deep Space/The Pocket Dimension**

 _Why...why won't I die?_

The shattered remains of a wrecked cockpit floated along in silence. The creature once known as Akator Halcyon had been drifting for days, his body damaged beyond repair, his cybernetics melted and fused to the wreckage that held him prisoner. He had resigned himself to death before he even detonated the explosion that saved his clan, and yet death refused to claim him.

And since then, he had floated in a starless sky, a black void of unending dispair.

But wait...

In the sea of darkness, a light could be seen. It was faint, but it was real.

Akator could not turn his head, but his ocular implants could read the energy signature. It was not unlike the tear in space-time that had brought them to this cursed dimension. It was a hyperspace pocket, a controlled hole in the fabric of dimensions.

Akator could do nothing but watch as a small cube emerged from the hyperspace anomaly. It scanned the wreckage containing Akator's remains. It activated a small tractor beam, and pulled the wreckage towards the swirling mass of energy. The hyperspace gate swallowed the wreckage whole, and then vanished, leaving nothing behind but the infinite sea.


	21. Chapter 21

Bakurro and Adara moved quickly through the night, sprinting across the sand as fast as their feet would carry them. They moved as shadows might, silently and without hesitation. After an hour or so, they had to stop for a break, and collapsed into the ground.

They both lay on their sides, gasping for air. After a moment, their eyes locked, and they broke into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

"Oh my god, I can't believe we did that!" Adara was grinning, her heart was racing, and she felt more alive than she had in years.

Bakurro grinned back at her and pulled a half-chewed cigar from his vest. "I'm genuinely surprised you went along with it."

"You tranqued Foster! They're going to kill you for that!" Adara covered her mouth in sudden realization. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Relax. I use that stuff all the time. He'll sleep for an hour or two and wake up with a headache. No big deal, I've used on myself when I really needed some sleep before." He casually lit his cigar and took a deep draw from it. "That being said, it won't be long before they figure out what happened, and they'll probably come after us. So we can't wait long."

Adara nodded, and sat on the ground, willing her heart to slow down and her muscles to recover. They would have to move again soon.

"You could still go back, you know."

Adara looked at Bakurro in confusion.

"If you think you can't go through with it, I mean." Bakurro propped himself up, leaning back on his elbows. "Back there, they coddle you. They think you are weak, that you need to be protected. Going back there, it'd be a lot easier than running with me."

She shook her head. "Not a chance. They're a bunch of hypocrites and liars. I don't need their pity. At least you are honest with me."

Bakurro shrugged, and leaned back on the ground. "We'll have to move soon. Way I figure, they light up sky like morning in about another hour. I want to be long gone by then."

"Where are we even going?"

"We're gonna get my uncle back."

* * *

"Oh Yeah! We're gonna rock this place tonight! Corral at 21:00 local time, everybody, its gonna be awesome!"

Kalna the Hutt shuffled through the hallways of the facility, his entourage in tow, handing out flyers and reminding the staff that an evening at the Corral was a great way to punch in their mandatory weekly relaxation credits. The Hutt slithered his way back to his wing of the base, where cold sterile fluorescence gave way to dimly lit velvet hallways with neon signs. It was jarring for most people, walking from what felt like a hospital to what felt like the Red Light district of Nar Shaddaa. It was this stark duplicity that made the Facility work as a concept. It made you feel like you were truly entering a different world.

"Alright guys, beat it. I got a meeting." Kalna shuffled up to his main conference room and pushed the doors open. Dr Passus was sitting at the far end of a long conference table, looking none too pleased. Kalna enjoyed holding their little meetings on his home turf. He was not afraid of meeting the Doctor on his, but he knew Passus was uncomfortable with the life of decadence the Entertainment Wing represented. "Doctor Passus. Good to see you."

Passus clicked his timepiece closed and it disappeared back into the folds of his coat. "You are late."

"Yeah, well...maybe... you're just early? Ever think about that?" Kalna shuffled to the head of the table and relaxed. Passus rolled his eyes. "So what did we need to discuss?"

"I've had to accelerate my timetable on certain projects. I'll be claiming a double portion of the generators this evening to power a special project. Your little club will have to close early."

Kalna's nostrils flared, seething with anger. "What? No way! That's not happening!"

Passus rolled his eyes and crossed his legs. "You know how this works, Kalna. Czerka and the Hutt Cartel are sharing risk and profit on this operation. I run the special projects, you run the staff. My project's importance outweighs your ..." Passus wrinkled his nose. "...parties."

Kalna slammed his fist down on the table, sending splinters flying as his fist went partially through it. "No! Morale is my division, and we've been planning tonight's event for months! There is NO way I am letting you shut it down."

Passus examined his fingernails closely. "I'm not asking you, Kalna. I'm telling you what is going to happen. I am enacting a brownout in order to power a particularly important action. Your little nightclub would drain the batteries down to nothing, and I cannot risk this transfer being cut off before being partially completed."

Kalna grumbled. Technically Passus held the right to order him to back down, but his Hutt pride would never allow him to let the power shift so dramatically in his opponents direction. His eyes narrowed. _Fine. He'll get his way in the end. But I'll make sure I retain the high ground._

"You understand what a major problem this is, the entire staff has been waiting for this event. Postponing it will be...problematic."

Passus was bored of this transaction, and ready to make a deal. "I'll offer you two boons, as a courtesy for the inconvenience. First, a proper explanation of what I will be doing with the extra power, you are owed that much if you are giving up your position."

Kalna nodded, this was Passus deferring to Cartel protocol. It would be dishonor to ask a Hutt to give anything up without proper explanation.

"My former apprentice is comatose. For lack of a more scientific explanation, his soul was taken from him. The vessel that carried it has recently been acquired."

Kalna tapped his fingers on the table. It was obvious that Passus was dumbing down the terminology, but he had lost interest anyways. "So you need the generators for a thing. Fine. What's the second boon?"

Passus sat back in his chair. He was looking forward to explaining the intricacies of his plan, but showed no outward sign of disappointment. "My second boon is this: I will promise you special entertainment at your event once it is rescheduled. Fresh meat."

Kalna's eyes widened. "That...would be quite a treat indeed. I could justify the delay in the event by saying we are waiting on the new entertainment..." He pondered this for a moment, and then grinned. "Alright, Passus, you got a deal. I'll reschedule the party for a week from now."

Passus stood. "Make sure your people are all in their quarters by nightfall. I plan to get started as soon as possible."

* * *

Quarros was marching slowly through the desert. He felt neither thirst nor fatigue, and the fact that his companions were slowly falling behind him was annoying.

Arbokk and Barrow had both stripped themselves of their top level of armor, and had torn shawls from bits of spare cloth to protect their skin from the heat while still affording them breathability. Foster was managing decently enough in his gear, but Rodeo was still wearing his full-length coat, refusing to leave it behind, and sweat was streaming down his face.

"Hey, you're gonna dehydrate man. Here." Foster handed Rodeo a canteen, and the latter took a sip.

Arbokk shield his eyes and looked towards the horizon. "I don't get it. I don't see any tracks, why are we going this way?"

Barrow looked up. "And where is the heat coming from? There's no sun."

Quarros spoke for the first time in an hour, without breaking his stride. "The planetoid is utilizing Project Falsom, which uses a series of satellites to create an artificial day/night cycle. They are scattered high in the atmosphere and each unit can emit enough heat and light to provide for a large community. When used in conjunction with each other, if the system is large enough, they can simulate a full day/night cycle for an entire planet."

The group was silent for a moment, then Arbokk spoke. "That is definitely the most I've ever heard him say at one time."

Rodeo growled. "Hot is hot, its part of life. We have to keep moving."

Barrow trotted to catch up with Quarros and kept pace beside him. "Hey, we're buddies now, right? What's your deal? How do you know about that stuff you just rattled off?"

"It is a Czerka project. I have seen the design schematics."

Rodeo stopped dead in his tracks. "Hold up, Quarros." The droid stopped and turned in an about-face. "You're saying this planet, this hidden planet on the dark side of the Rift, is using Czerka tech?"

Quarros nodded. "Affirmative. The energy readings are unmistakable. This planetoid is almost certainly a Czerka outpost."

Rodeo gritted his teeth. "Those lying bastards..."

Foster looked back and forth between Barrow and Rodeo, uncertain of what to do. "I don't get it...what's the problem?"

Barrow frowned and wiped his brow. "We had a deal with Czerka. The original eight of us. There were favors on both sides, but at the end of it, we walked away. The deal was they got to keep all the data they had collected on the latent Guardian energy from us. But the tradeoff was that they had to drop all pursuits to breach the dimensional barrier. Basically, to stop trying to get out of the dimension where the Nexus didn't exist."

Arbokk yawned and stretched. "So they broke their promise. Big deal. They're a big corporation. What did you expect?"

Rodeo chimed in. "If they breach the dimensional barrier, and were somehow able to simulate Guardian or Halcyon energy, they'd have a tremendous power source at their disposal. Imagine Czerka militias with weapons powerful enough to pacify an army, with absolutely impenetrable shields, tech that is powered by a literally unlimited energy pool. Does that sound like a good idea to you?"

Barrow nodded towards Rodeo. "Hey man, try it."

Rodeo grunted and shook his head.

"C'mon, you gotta try it. I was never ever to do it. I know you could at least touch the stuff. You were close enough to Guardian for that, we both know it."

Rodeo frowned for a moment, then quickly removed his hat and coat, laying them gently on the ground. He stood with his feet wide apart, facing away from the group, looking off into the distance.

Barrow chuckled. "Okay boys, you might be getting a show now."

Foster was completely lost. "I don't get it, what's he doing?"

Barrow kneeled down, Arbokk and Foster instinctively did the same. "Well, this power of theirs, it enhances what you already have, right? If you're a Jedi, your connection to the Force is amplified. But for a guy like Rodeo there, imagine the greatest marksman you've ever heard of, and then forget him. Because when Rodeo there was in his prime, with a touch of that Halcyon power, he was the fastest, greatest shot the galaxy had ever-"

"Will you PLEASE shut up?" Rodeo growled through gritted teeth. "I'm trying to concentrate."

"Oh! Sorry!" Barrow whispered. The three men huddled together, watching Rodeo. Quarros stood stoic, silently taking notes.

Rodeo steadied his hands over his blaster grips, shaking them once, and then again. He closed his eyes, reached his mind out as hard as he could, straining for a taste of that golden aura that had been ever-present with him so long ago.

A moment passed, and Rodeo's shoulders slumped. "Sorry kids. I got nothing."

The group let out a collective groan of disappointment. The gunslinger quickly retrieved his hat and coat. "Either we're still in the exiled dimension, or we're someplace where the Nexus can't reach us. I can't feel a thing."

"Well that was anti-climatic." Foster grumbled.

"We have wasted enough time. We will keep moving." Quarros stated this as fact, and resumed his march. The others soon followed behind, dragging their feet and grumbling.

* * *

Elder and Lilia were meditating, facing each other on a pair of cots. They each sat in a reflective pose, their legs crossed and their eyes closed. They were in a makeshift tent, and while the occasional clatter and argument could be heard outside, both Jedi had tuned out the outside world and were together in a purely solemn, peaceful state.

They went on in silence for the better part of an hour before Lilia started to shift uncomfortably. Her back was aching and her legs had fallen asleep. She twisted and turned, her eyes still closed, trying to work out the ache in her muscles. Elder smiled as he sensed her discomfort. "I think that's enough for now. Let's take a break."

"Oh? Are you sure, Master? We can keep going, if you like."

Elder smiled again, amused by her persistence. "No no, I think a break would suit me quite well. My back is quite stiff. And please, do not feel the need to address me as Master. I'm already uncomfortable with my designation."

Lilia tried her best to suppress a giggle, and failed. "I wondered about that. 'Master Elder Halcyon?' It does seem rather..."

"Pompous? I certainly thought so." Elder chuckled along with her. "But we do what we have to do. I thought the name Elder was rather pretentious, but I think Michael and Rodeo found it amusing."

Lilia cocked her head to the side. "Wait, you mean 'Elder' isn't your real name?"

Elder laughed and leaned backwards, popping his back. "You think my parents held a little baby in their arms and decided to name it 'Elder'? That a little boy grew up being called 'Elder' by his friends? Hahaha, no, no, quite not."

Lilia sat back down, hesitant to ask her next question.

"It's okay child. It is only natural to wonder now. But I'm afraid you might be disappointed in my answer."

Lilia asked anyways. "What is your real name?"

Elder smiled down at her. "I cannot tell you."

"Why not?"

Elder sighed. He had only had this conversation with a select few in the past several years. But there was something about this girl. Something familiar, and inviting, and over the years Elder had learned to trust his instincts about people.

"There a great many secrets in the universe, child. Some are better left unspoken."

Lilia nodded, a practiced gesture Elder had seen many times in the faces of padawans who were being told to shut up and do what they were told.

"No no, child! You must never accept an answer like that!"

Lilia cocked her head to the side again and stammered, "But, Master-I mean, Elder. Sir. Did you not-?"

Elder lifted his head back and laughed hard. "Child, the universe is a wondrous place, and there are a great many secrets left in it to discover. Don't ever let anyone tell you not to go seeking them. Just because I cannot tell you something does not mean you should give up searching for it."

He sat down next to her and put an arm around her. "Imagine the whole of the universe, not just our galaxy but all galaxies, swirling around in the infinite wonder that makes up all creation. Do you think that somewhere, out there, in the infinite void, there is another old man boring another young woman with his lectures?"

Lilia smiled and leaned into Elder, who was already feeling more like a grandfather than a Jedi Master to her.

"Of course there is. And if not, there will be. History is cyclical, child. It will repeat itself over and over again until all the stars have burned out. And then a new star will rise and the whole process will begin again. We are but a small part of a very large and beautiful working, and the infinite wonders out there are begging to be found by adventurous young women like yourself."

"Now, let's get back to your training. No reason to sit idly by." They both resumed their positions on the cots. "Now, that fiend aboard the ship managed his escape by clouding the minds of the two youngest members on board. We are going to practice shielding your thoughts from invaders. I am going to erect a shield around my mind, and I want you to try and pierce it. As you do, study my technique, and learn from it."

"Yes, sir." Lilia closed her eyes and reached out to Elder, who quickly raised a defensive shield. In her mind's eye, it was like a golden sphere encompassing his whole being, swirling like water under an golden transparisteel floor. She poked and prodded for a while, but was unable to break the shield.

"You'll have to do better than that, child. We are in an astral plane now, use your imagination."

Lilia gritted her teeth and mentally balled her fists. The spectral version of Lilia sprouted a pink energy from her hands, and she stabbed at the shield, pushing with all her might.

"Good! Now you are being a clever girl. Watch how my shield adapts to your attack."

The shield began to draw energy towards the spot she was attacked, and she could see energy flow from behind the sphere to bolster the spot where her energy attack was focused.

 _I can do this. I can be clever. If I can just catch him off guard..._

"You are doing great, child. Now, watch how my mental shield reacts to-"

 _Now!_

The astral version of Lilia swung her arm around wide and fired off a blast of pink energy around the sphere. It flew like a knife, orbiting the shield and striking it at the far side, where the energy had pulled away. It struck and abruptly pierced the golden sphere.

Ha! I did it! I -

Suddenly, Lilia found herself with more than she had bargained for. Elder's memories flooded her mind, blasting through her so fast it nearly split her head in two. Sights and smells and phrases and pain and all the life's experiences of the man swarmed her senses.

"-a place of peace-"

"-the only way-"

"-dinnertime!"

"-poppa!"

"-there's been a fire, down at the village!"

"-never again will we-"

"-damn our Oaths!"

"-an act of mercy..."

"Lilia!"

Lilia gasped for air and opened her eyes, Elder was standing over her, focusing his healing energies on her. "Child, are you alright?"

She nodded and gripped her head, the pain of the intrusion still tearing at her, like a finger that had been cut off but could still be felt.

"Child I apologize, I should not have underestimated you. I inadvertently let you wander into territory you were not ready for yet. I take full responsibility."

She shook her head. "No no, its alright. I tried to overstep and got burned for it. Its part of the learning process."

Elder frowned and held her tightly. "Lilia, I hate to do this, but I must ask. Did you see anything in my mind that you feel you shouldn't have."

Lilia paused, and nodded.

Elder frowned harder, his face darkening ever so slightly. "What did you see, Child?"

Lilia's voice was soft. "I saw your real name..."

Elder sighed, and stood. Lilia was quick to protest. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean to! And I won't tell anyone, I swear! I understand now why you kept it a secret, if the others found out..."

Elder peeked his head outside the tent, and then came back inside. "I'm sorry, child. But I cannot take that risk."

Lilia backed up a bit. "What...what do you mean?"

Elder looked at her sternly. "This matters so much more than just you or I. For the good of the galaxy, I cannot allow this information to be set loose. Not when the stability of the Nexus is so imperiled as it is now."

Lilia was getting scared now, and backing away. "Master...I swear, I won't breathe a word of this to anyone. I swear it."

Elder furrowed his brow and looked at her with hard, cold eyes. "I know."

A few moments later, Lilia and Elder came out of the tent, laughing at some antiquated joke Elder had told. His arm was around her and she was leaning into him affectionately, once again feeling like she had found a grandfatherly presence to lean on, a friend in this dark time. They headed back to the middle of camp, where Alan was preparing some rations for dinner.

"Now, child. Do you have any questions about what you learned today?"

She shook her head and smiled. "Nope. I'm good. But I'm gonna beat that shield of yours one day, Master!" She turned her head to the side. "I feel like there was something I wanted to ask you about...something important...hmmph. Must have slipped my mind. Oh well!" She smiled and waved. "If I think of it, I'll ask you later!"

"Very well, child. Go get something to eat."

He watched her as she merrily skipped over to the campfire, not a care in the world.

Elder's smile slowly faded, and sighed deeply into himself.

 _This isn't at all what we planned..._


	22. Chapter 22

Michael Halcyon, the Last Guardian, hung from his chains. Several days had passed since his incarceration, and he was provided neither food nor drink. His body was weak, his mind was breaking, and his time was approaching fast. There was not an entity in this life or the next that could save him now.

"Are you ready, child?" The cold Doctor Passus entered the room with his usual grace, sliding among the shadows as one born of the void.

"What...what do you expect to gain from this?" Michael's voice was weak, his strength had left him. He had resigned himself to death, but refused to give up without hearing the answers he needed.

Passus clicked his timepiece shut, and smiled. He was an egoist at heart, and was grateful for the opportunity to outline his plan. After all, what is a villain without his monologue?

"Your soul, and that of my apprentice, they were forced together upon your exile. The machine you are now strapped into, with a great amount of energy, will extract the two, very painfully, and rectify that mistake."

Passus manned the control panel and switched on the lights. The brightness caused Michael to wince, and his doppelganger from the Dark Dimension remained motionless, strapped into a duplicate of the very apparatus that held Michael so tightly, an unholy machine, an abomination of science and sorcery. The doctor worked the panels and the machine could be heard powering up.

"So, what? You extract the dark soul from my own, and transplant it into that clone over there? What happens then? We both walk away, different people?"

Passus allowed himself a moment of indifference, the closest he could manage to levity. A lesser being would have laughed. The Reaper himself only showed the barest of outward appearance of amusement. "More or less. The extraction will be quite painful, and not swift. Several hours will pass for the procedure to process fully. Your soul will be broken apart, piece by piece, half by half, until enough have been separated to awaken my apprentice."

"Hours, eh? Hope you packed a lunch. I don't plan on giving up that easily." Michael's bravado was poignant, but hollow. If a half portion of his very soul were to be given up in the first few minutes, he knew his chances of survival were slim. Still, he was not about to give his captor the satisfaction of knowing he was beaten.

Passus, however, was not fooled. He knew how painful and fatal the procedure would be on the host, and the sacrifice of this obnoxious Guardian was more than an even trade to reacquire his deadly second-in-command, his feared lieutenant, the deadly Darth Pra-

"Doctor? We have a problem!"

The voice on the intercom was trembling with fear, both at the situation unfolding and at the presumption of interrupting the dreaded Darth Passus during one of his special projects.

"What is it, worm?" Passus hissed into the intercom, furiously.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we seem to have intruders on the Northern front. Two Cathar, rapidly approaching the Facility entrance, sir. You were asked to be notified of any outside interference, and-"

"That's enough. Shut up already." Passus frowned at Michael. This was moving too quickly. He looked sideways at his former apprentice and caressed the side of his face in a brief moment of affection. "Soon, my child. Soon you will be by my side again."

He turned to Michael, who was barely conscious, hanging in his bonds. "The extraction process takes several hours to complete. Your soul will be split in half, then halved again, until my apprentice's darkness is removed from your own. I have more than enough time to handle this distraction, and return in time to greet my General upon his return to life."

He gently caressed Michael's face, and then struck it hard, leaving a red mark on his cheek. "Don't die on me yet, Jedi. You have work to complete."

He flipped the switch on the dreadful machine, and Michael screamed in agony. Dark lightning filled the room as Passus' dark science was enacted, and the Doctor left the room to deal with the more urgent threat.

* * *

"Told ya I'd find the place. Ain't nobody can hide from this nose of mine." Bakurro drew his blaster and pressed his back against a rock. Adara was already on the ground, scanning the area with a pair of macrobinoculars. Not fifty meters ahead of them the flat ground dropped away in a slope, with a steel set of blast doors at the bottom. An obvious entrance to some kind of underground facility.

"Unless your nose is going to get us inside, I wouldn't start bragging just yet." Adara put down the device and turned to Bakurro. "We won't be blasting through those doors, thats for sure."

"We could always knock."

Adara snorted, a half-hearted laugh. She looked back through the macros and tried to come up with a plan. "Presumably those doors have to open some time. We could recon for a while, learn the schedule, maybe I could Force Cloak us long enough to sneak in. What do you think?" She looked over at her companion, who was gone. "Bakurro?"

She looked around, he was nowhere to be seen. "Bakurro?"

She looked through the macros again, and Bakurro could be seen confidently swaggering up to the blast doors, in plain sight. "You have got to be kidding me."

Bakurro strolled up to the facility entrance and pounded on the doors three times. He took a few steps back, dropped his blaster on the ground, and put his hands behind his head, interlacing his fingers together in a position of submission.

A moment passed, and the doors opened. An alarm klaxon could be heard inside, and red lights flashed on the ceiling. Several armed guards exited, their blaster rifles trained on the Cathar as they flanked him. Bakurro stood still, a sly smile on his face. He raised and dropped his shoulders in a mock sigh, waiting for the show to get on with it. A Czerka officer approached him and picked the large blaster off the ground, hefting it with both hands. Another guard kicked Bakurro's legs from behind, dropped him to his knees.

"Well, we were told to expect visitors. I just didn't expect you to give up your weapon so easily." The officer examined the blaster, a large triple-barrelled monstrosity. "You might be the first intelligent Cathar I've ever seen, submitting to your superiors so easily."

"Oh yessir! I wouldn't dare try nuthin' funny with no humans about. I just can't hope to outwit such a powerful race, no sir." Bakurro was on the verge of tears, playing up the role maybe just a bit too much. "I'd understand if you wanted to kill me right now, I recognize the hopelessness of the situation I'm in, sir."

The officer scoffed and smiled. He straightened up, standing taller. "If only it were up to me, alien. But you are to be detained and interrogated. Now stand, and follow me."

"Oh yessir, thank you sir." Bakurro stood and followed him through the blast doors, closely followed by the Czerka guards. "Forgive my audacity, sir, but I would be remiss if I didn't point out a slight mistake you've made."

"Oh?" The officer turned and faced Bakurro, a scowl on his face. "And what is that, furlicker?"

Bakurro shrugged. "You seem to think I need my blaster."

Anyone else would have taken that split second of surprise to spring a trap. Bakurro instead stood still, eyes locked with the officer while he processed what the Cathar was saying. It took longer than expected, a full three seconds passed before the officer's eyes widened.

"There it is."

What happened next occurred in the blink of an eye, before the Czerka guards could properly react. Bakurro shook and stomped his right foot, activating a hidden trigger in his heel. A back pouch on his belt popped open and an emitted a sudden pssshhhhh as a pressurised seal was broken. Out of the pouch, a small cylinder, no larger than a galactic credit shot out of the pouch, travelling up Bakurro's back and landing in his open hand behind his head. When the small device made contact with Bakurro's skin, it began to expand rapidly, detaching and reattaching itself, linking itself with its own detached pieces. After half a second, the two-meter long chain activated its energy charge and glowed green, and Bakurro swung it in a wide arc, catching several guards in the face and knocking them to the ground.

Adara uncloaked herself and ignited her saber behind Bakurro, deflecting several shots that were intended to bring down the bounty hunter. She hissed at the Czerka guards and leapt into the fray, showing no mercy.

Bakurro swung his energy chain around and around again, sending sparks flying every time he struck an assailant. The officer who had taunted the Cathar before scrambled to get away before feeling the chain wrap around his ankle. The chain pulled taut and took the man's feet out from under him, sending him to the ground where he struck his chin hard. He rolled onto his back and cried out in pain, gripping his jaw as he was pulled back to where Bakurro and Adara stood over their defeated foes.

"Now, let's try this again." Bakurro grinned and gripped the man by his uniform, lifting him up to eye level. "Exactly where do you take your prisoners?"

* * *

"Quarros, buddy, you gotta slow down. Us flesh-and-bone peoples gotta rest."

Quarros stopped his steady march and turned back to his party, who were falling behind. The sky was turning red as the artificial evening began to fall. Barrow and Arbokk were sweating profusely, and though he'd never admit it, Rodeo was beginning to show signs of fatigue as well. They had kept up their steady pace for hours, chasing a horizon, and had uncovered no signs of their companions.

Quarros turned and stood straight. "Very well. We will make camp. I will stand watch, rest yourselves." He scanned the group with a red medical beam. "I estimate that four hours should provide adequate recovery time if you all fall asleep right now."

Barrow collapsed and laughed to himself. "Sheesh, don't go easy on us or nothing."

Arbokk also fell to the sand and rolled onto his back, sand sticking to his red skin. Rodeo removed his jacket and rolled it into a ball, forming a makeshift pillow. A port hole opened in Quarros' chest and he loudly sprayed a black mulch on the ground. The other three scattered in surprise and then ducked for cover when the droid engaged his flamethrower. A moment later a decent campfire was burning, and Rodeo was checking to make sure he still had his eyebrows.

An hour passed. Much to Quarros' annoyance no one was sleeping, and instead he was being forced to sit through the idle chatter that fleshy beings so often indulged in. He allowed himself to drift off into a hibernation state, but left a top level of his operating system online to record the conversation for later review. He silently allowed his ion core to refill his power reserves.

Meanwhile, the other party members were getting to know each other better. Barrow was fascinated with Rodeo's courier service and the success he had found with it. Arbokk, being a former slave, was intrigued by hearing of Barrow's time in Alderaanian nobility, amazed that one of the 'slave races' would ever be accepted in high society. And Rodeo found himself wistful of Arbokk's tales of daring piracy on the Outer Rim.

And then, as time passed and they found themselves forming bonds of friendship, all three began to wonder about their fourth companion, ever stoic, ever silent.

"Hey! Quarros. You awake?"

Quarros slowly powered himself back up, and the lights on his chest piece began to glow again.

"I am present. Are we ready to continue?"

"What? No." Arbokk shook his head and laughed. "No no, we just wanted to talk to you."

Quarros took a moment to process this, and then powered himself back down.

"Hey hey! Come back here!" Barrow shouted.

The light came back on, and Quarros spoke. "If you are rested enough to carry on this conversation instead of sleeping, then I highly suggest we move. We are losing distance on our quarry."

"Who were you, before you were...you know...this?" Rodeo asked, gesturing to the assemblage of gears and sprockets that made up Quarros' body.

"That is not relevant."

"Oh come on. We didn't get to know Akator as anything more than a droid, and by the time we got through to him, it was too late. C'mon. Share with us!" Barrow grinned.

Arbokk nodded in agreement. "Yeah, who were you? What made you this?"

Quarros' mind processed a variety of different outcomes. He measured what he knew of his three companions, their histories, their personalities, and came up with a solution that would get them back on the chase the fastest.

"I will answer three questions. Then we move. Is this a fair bargain?"

Rodeo's eyebrows raised. "Now that didn't sound very droid-like. Bargaining?"

Quarros turned to Rodeo. "It is an acceptable proposition. Take it or do not."

Rodeo turned to the other two and shrugged. "Fine by me. I could push on."

Barrow asked first. "Are you all droid under there?"

"No. My original form was Mirialan. When my body was damaged, Czerka recovered what they could and replaced the rest with a droid form. I retain my original brain and nervous system. They are hard wired into the shell of the battle droid you see before you."

Arbokk chimed in next. "How was your body damaged?"

Quarros ran a series of memory checks on himself, a faint beeping could be heard. "I lived on Taris, as part of the recolonization movement. My compound was set upon by Rakghouls. When I manned a perimeter turret to fend them off, it malfunctioned and backfired, destroying most of my previous form. Fortunately, a Czerka survey team was nearby, and were able to intervene on my behalf."

Rodeo frowned at that, concerned at how awfully convenient that sounded. He wanted to inquire about that, but if his suspicions were correct, it was unlikely that Quarros would have any other relevant information to share on the subject. Instead, he backtracked a little. "Why were you on a turret, instead of fleeing the compound?"

Quarros paused again, running his memory checks. "My wife and child were inside. I manned the turret to delay the Rakghouls while they fled on our speeder. It's time to go." Quarros sprayed a white foam from his chest, dousing the fire and splattering the three gathered around it. "We must accelerate our pace to make up for lost time."

He marched through the desert, and the three men behind struggled to catch up.

* * *

Akator awoke in a strange environment. He looked down at himself, and for a brief moment rejoiced, believing his body had been restored. This elation quickly faded, as his mind caught up and recognized that what he was seeing was artificial. He was in a simulation, not unlike the one he had shared with Quarros only a week before on the transport vessel. His operating system was still active, and though he could 'see' his legs and arms, his processor told him that he was still fatally damaged.

He looked around, taking in the artificial environment. It was very simple, full of whites and grays. The horizon swirled in a digital conflux, and even the ground beneath him was forming and un-forming at a rapid pace. The digital nature of the simulation was a stark contrast to the nature scene he had shared before.

"Where am I?"

"Greetings, lost one. We hope you find your simulation pleasing to the senses. It is our endeavour to make your comfortable." The voice came from all around him, feminine in nature, but certainly synthetic. It had all the parsing and ring of a translator, speaking for another.

"May I address my host directly?"

A few meters in front of him, a shape began to form. The digital swirl came together and created the form of a protocol droid. It was silver, and possessed feminine features. All in all, it was a fairly common translator droid, save for the face. The face was unlike any droid Akator had ever seen before. It was animated, lively, almost human. The edges of the face shared the same digital cubism that engulfed the rest of the world they inhabited.

"Hello. I am Latrika, a translator AI. I speak for your hosts."

Akator took control of his simulated form and stood. He bowed sharply to Latrika, and introduced himself. "I am Akator, of the Halcyon clan. I thank you for intercepting me. I believe I would have drifted forever otherwise."

"Yes, we read your signature through the Rift and opened a pocket door to retrieve you. We first believed you to be a Czerka droid, and were ready to move on, but your energy signature was unique, and we felt you merited further investigation."

Akator nodded. A perfectly logical approach. "You traverse the Rift freely? Who are your masters?"

Latrika nodded. "We provided tech to Czerka for their outpost in the side dimension. We have the means to open the Rift to this dimension, for the purposes of supplying the outpost. Our knowledge of dimensional transport is highly advanced, and therefore classified information.

"As for my masters, they ask that I not share that information with you at this time. They wish to study you, to learn from you."

Akator shrugged. "I don't see how I have much choice. I am indebted to you and your masters for my rescue. I'll cooperate however I can. What information can I provide?"

Latrika smiled, grateful that he would not resist or press the issue. "My masters detest droids, as they view them lesser beings. However, they are very interested biological-tech hybrids, and wish to study your form. They have never encountered a being so like both sentient and droid."

"I see." Akator frowned. He finally had come to realize his sentient side, rejecting his droid-like traits, and now it was that very part of him that merited his prolonged existence. "And what do I get in return?"

"Besides your rescue?"

Akator smiled and shook his head. "You had to rescue me in order to facilitate this transaction. I'd call that a freebie. If I let you dissect and learn from me, I want something in return."

The sky darkened, and booming alien voice echoed through the chamber. Latrika nodded. "They have spoken. They are willing to grant you a boon, and ask that you choose carefully."

Akator's eyes narrowed. "Restoration. They have to make me whole again."

"And you believe them capable of this?"

Akator nodded, annoyed with this pretense. "You know very well they can. Any race with tech powerful enough to traverse the Rift, open pocket doors and whatnot, they can scavenge what's left of me and fit me up with a new form. That's what I want. Give me that, and you can do what you will with me."

The sky darkened again, and the booming voice echoed.

Latrika looked back to Akator, all warmth and kindness gone from her face.

"This is acceptable. The bargain is struck. We will incorporate your being into our own, and when we have picked you clean, you will have form again."

Akator nodded. "Then let's get started. I've got work to do."


	23. Chapter 23

The night sky was beginning to light up, the start of an artificial day for an artificial world. There was no sun, no moon, only the soft ambience of orange light that rose up from the horizon. It was a still, quiet daybreak. The sounds one would normally associate with the start of a new day were conspicuously absent. The sound of insects, of birds chirping their songs, all the background noise one learns to tune out, here on this world the tuning out had been done in advance, and the result was unsettling.

Lilia emerged from her tent to find Alan already preparing rations near the campfire. Mit was leaning against a bit of rubble near the fire, snoring. Elder and Oryon were not in sight, presumably still sleeping or preparing for the day. Lilia approached and greeted Alan wordlessly, the quiet nod of the refugee. Alan nodded back and handed her a carefully prepared breakfast.

"Thank you, Alan, that's very kind of you." Lilia sat near the older man and began quietly picking at her food. "Have you been up long?"

Alan stoked the fire. "I haven't slept much since we landed. I feel exposed out here, it's difficult to relax." Lilia took note of Alan, really looking at him for the first time. He was appearing worse for wear, his clothes were dirty and ragged, his organic eye was sunken and his cheekbones were protruding. He had been pushing himself hard, not getting enough food or rest.

"Alan, if you'd like, I can help you enter a trance that will keep you relaxed so you can get some rest..."

Alan smiled, his blonde mustache bristling. "Thanks for the offer kid, but I'm not much for Jedi business. I'll stick with what I know, thanks."

Lilia offered a weak smile and shrugged. "It's an open offer if you change your mind."

Alan grunted and went to check Mit's bandages. He peeled back the dressing on the soldier's chest and dabbed at the wound with a sterilized cloth. He pulled an antiseptic spray from his pack and sprayed twice into the open wound before re-applying the bandages.

"How's he doing?"

Alan washed his hands with a cloth from his pack. "He's stable, amazingly. A wound like that, I'd have put even money on him kicking it right off the bat. No reason that he should still be breathing."

"Do we know what's keeping him sustained?"

Alan shook his head. "Old man spouts some mysticism bantha crap, Doc says it was his own quick action keeping him alive. Me? I think Mit here is just tough as durasteel and twice as stubborn."

Lilia smiled at this, setting down her caf. She looked to Mit, who had refused to have his helmet removed, even now at Death's door. She remembered the amazing act of bravery and strength he had displayed when he rescued them from Haborym's clutches. "Despite all my study of the Force and its wonders, I'm inclined to agree with you."

She looked up at Alan, who was scanning the horizon warily. "Is something wrong?"

He shrugged. "Its probably nothing."

"...and it might be...what?"

Alan sighed and sat back down to stoke the fire some more. "This world we've landed on, its not meant to be here. It's man-made, we've pretty much established that, right?"

"That seems to be the opinion."

"It stands to reason that whoever built this place is still here. Or at the very least, will be back at some point." He pulled a cigarette from his coat and lit it. "So why are we assuming that they don't already know we are here?"

Lilia's face wrinkled, confused. "I think its pretty obvious they do, right? They took Bakurro and Adara!"

Alan scoffed. "Don't be silly, girl. They ran off on their own."

"What?! Why would they-? How do you-?"

"Come on kid. Those two were eyeing each other pretty sharp the night before they ran off. It ain't hard to figure out what happened."

Lilia was flabbergasted. She had tried to be friends with Adara, but ever since the Haborym incident, she had completely been shunned by the Cathar. She never thought she would do something so drastic to get away. And with Bakurro! That rough, foul-mouthed bounty hunter! And what are they doing out there? Are they maybe-?

*gasp*

Lilia straightened up and covered her mouth as she imagined just what those two might be up to.

"You don't think they...I mean...she wouldn't...right?"

Alan chuckled. "Right now I'd say that's the least of our worries."

Lilia frowned and stood up indignantly. "Breaking your vows to the Jedi Order is no laughing matter, Alan! This is a serious matter, and...wait...if you think they went off on their own, why did you let Rodeo and the others go after them?"

Alan took a drag from his cigarette and held it for a moment before letting it out. "Whoever built this place, they almost certainly have us outnumbered and outgunned. If they make a move on us, I'd rather the heavy hitters most likely to cause a firefight to be far, far away from here."

* * *

Volaro slumped in his cell, feeling weak. He had been here for what felt like weeks, though his perception of time was almost certainly skewed by his isolation. He was unshaven and disheveled, and the meager meals they provided to him did not seem to be on any kind of schedule, as though he was only given food when some random supervisor remembered to feed him. The voice from the speaker had not contacted him in quite some time, days at least. Had something new happened? Something to draw his attention away? Were there other survivors from the wreckage?

He lay in his cell for hours without moving, quietly contemplating his future, or potential lack of one. He tried to call upon his training to meditate, but touching the Force itself was never his strong suit. He was a scholar, not a mystic.

He had resigned himself to solitude, but not to death. He was prepared to die for his Lord Asmodeus, and when he put his life on the line to rescue his Master, he believed his duty to be at long last fulfilled. It was never his desire to be revived in this dark, dank cell. However, this did mean that his duty was not yet over, and he would wait as long as he had to in order to be released from this prison and discover the fate of his Master. He would sit in silence for years if he had to, until his captors no longer had any use for him and released him or killed him. Either way, he was prepared to wait for years in isolation if that was what would be required of him.

It was during this reflection on solitude that several blaster shots could be heard outside, and the cell door opened to reveal two familiar figures.

"Hello, Uncle. Did you miss me?"

It took a moment for Volaro's eyes to adjust to the point where he could clearly see Bakurro and Adara before him.

"Oh...oh no."

Bakurro snorted. "Is that the best you can muster, old man? Your daring nephew comes to your rescue and all you can say is-"

"You foolish child..."

Bakurro frowned at this. "Hey! Hey! I just staged one hell of a rescue and all you have for me is insults? I oughtta let you rot in here!"

Adara looked around nervously. "Something's not right, Bakurro...I feel cold all of sudden..."

"You have to get out, nephew, you have to get out now, before it's too late."

Bakurro looked down and shook his head. "This is just like you, you know? You never believe that I can do anything on my own. I'll have you know that I've done just fine without you all these years, and I'm more than capable of-"

"Bakurro, get out! Now!"

It was too late. Before Bakurro could admonish his uncle's lack of emotional support any longer, he was hit with a very physical bolt of lightning in the side. He was blasted out of the doorframe and across the room, immediately knocked unconscious. Adara lit her saber and it was promptly ripped from her hands. She tried to cloak herself with the Force, but a wave of energy knocked her into the air. She struck the ceiling hard and crashed down to the floor, every bone and joint aching.

Volaro had no energy left to fight, and slunk into the corner of his cell again. He was not afraid before, he had resigned himself to his situation. But now he was fearful for the life of his nephew and young Adara. This fear was multiplied as his host stepped into the doorframe, and for the first time he met the dark Doctor Passus face to face.

He did not speak, but smiled at the caged old man, and slowly closed the door.

* * *

The scouting party was unprepared for the attack. They had marched for hours and hours without sight of another living being, and so when the grenade fell in front of them, only Quarros reacted quickly enough to take any action. The droid quickly grabbed the grenade and thrust it into his chestplate, content in the knowledge that his inner chamber was more than sturdy enough to protect his companions from a simple fragmentation grenade.

Unfortunately, his attackers had anticipated this.

The grenade blew, and blue-white energy enveloped Quarros, and the droid shook for a moment before powering down and falling to the ground.

"What the hell was that?" Arbokk yelled in terror as they ducked for cover.

"An ion grenade. Whoever threw that wanted to make sure Quarros went down first." Rodeo had already drawn his blasters and was prepared to defend his crew.

"Yeah...uh, I wouldn't bother with those."

Rodeo turned behind him and faced several dozen guards in Czerka uniforms. They had appeared behind him without a sound, and had them flanked. There was nothing left to do. Rodeo frowned and dropped his blasters. Barrow followed suit. Arbokk in turn dropped his sword, his axe, his knife, his grenades, and his blaster.

The Czerka guard spoke into his comm. "All targets secured, sir."

* * *

Passus returned to laboratory where the two Halcyon's hung strapped into the dark Transference Machine just in time to see the process finished. After hours of agony, Michael Halcyon fell silent. Passus entered the chamber of his apprentice and caressed his face.

"Are you here, my son? Have you returned to me at long last?"

The dark Michael took a deep breath and opened his eyes for the first time in a decade. His chains unraveled and fell to the ground, and the Sith himself slowly descended and stood under his own power. He focused his eyes on his counterpart, the shell that had hosted his spirit for so long, the meat suit that he fought so hard for control over.

He said not a word, but held out his hand. His master, Passus, placed his lightsaber in the hand of its rightful owner. He raised his hand, and the transparisteel barrier between them shattered, blowing glass shards all over the captive Halcyon. The newly resurrected doppelganger slowly walked over to his former host. He met the eyes of his former host, which were still glossed over from the trauma he had undergone. A flick of his wrist ignited his lightsaber, a orange blade with a black core.

Without hesitation, he plunged the blade deep into Michael Halcyon's abdomen, eliciting a scream of pain. He slowly, cruelly, began moving his blade sideways, burning through muscle and fat and flesh, until the blade broke free from the body, and the victim was left with a sizeable mass missing from his waist.

"Welcome back, my son." Passus was beaming at the newly resurrected Michael Halcyon, dreaming of the damage they would inflict together. "Come with me. We have your first outing prepared already."

The dark Michael licked his lips and rasped, "I'm eager to move, Master. Unleash me."

"That is my exact intention, child. But first, you need to dress for the occasion." He snapped his fingers and the door to the cell opened. Two Czerka workers wheeled in a tall locker and set it upright in the middle of the room. It hissed and opened, revealing an ancient and power suit of armor.

Michael smiled, as though seeing an old friend. "Perfect. Thank you, Master."

Passus gestured towards the armor. "It's not the original, I'm afraid. We had to recreate this based on the records we had. But you should notice only improvements. It's lighter than your original, but stronger. You'll be deadlier than ever." He smiled as the dark Michael began getting dressed. "Do you remember when you first started wearing the original?"

"It was my first outing with the Reapers. We invaded a young universe, early in its cycle. I took from their version of the Sith Lord Tulak Hord."

Passus smiled again. "I was so proud."

The original Michael Halcyon hung from the deadly machine. His mind had shattered, but he could hear these two monsters enjoying their reunion while he bled to death. He could not muster his voice, but heaved and sent bloody spittle their way. It fell far short of its mark, but the message was received.

The Sith Halcyon looked towards the dying man. "Shall I end him?"

Passus steered his apprentice away. "Don't waste your time. We've activated the Acheron device. The Guardians have no power here, but neither can they die. I won't risk deactivating it while they still have allies out there." He led the younger man away, and directed him to a holomap of the Facility. "But that's why I am sending you out."

The apprentice studied the name at the top of the map. "Tartarus?"

"It's what we call this world, this facility. I thought it fitting, given the motif we seem to be going for. Now, pay attention." He gestured to spot outside. "This is where we intercepted a scouting party. Our fifth legion used the tram systems to this station, here. They exited the service hatches and flanked their party. We have them captured, but we believe there are more out there. I am sending you here," he circled a section of the map, which zoomed in. "where we believe their ship went down. There are likely more holding camp. Capture them, and bring them to me."

"As you wish, Master."

* * *

Dusk was beginning to fall, cold and silent. The yellow and orange tint of the sky was beginning to show blue around the horizon. It had been a rather uneventful day, and it was fitting that night should come so quickly and silently.

Alan dressed Mitvekzuk's wounds again. Lilia was reading a book in her tent, something she had scavenged from the wreckage. Elder was meditating in his own shelter, and Oryon was sitting near the campfire, trying to repair a cracked datapad. Alan finished his work and bandaged the soldier back up. Mit was conscious now, but conserving his energy. He thanked Alan quietly as the Correllian wiped his hands.

"Don't sweat it, pal. I ain't about to let you kick it yet. We might still need you." He pulled another cigarette from his pack and flicked a match to light it. Before the death-stick could light, the flame on the match flicked out.

Alan stood very still for a moment. It occurred to him that in the past week they had been stranded on this strange world, he had not once felt a gust of wind. His mind began racing. Wind was caused by changes in atmospheric pressure. This world has no atmosphere.

A change in what then? What kind of pressure shift, maybe not from above, but from below? To create a gust of wind strong enough to blow out a match with a simple pressure release, it would have to be very, very close...

He stopped with sudden realization. _Artificial world..._ he recalled his words from that morning. _"...stands to reason that whoever built this place is still here. Or at the very least, will be back..."_

"Heh." He said softly, letting the unlit match fall to the ground. "I hate being right all the time."

The burnt match hit the ground, and several hatches opened all around the camp, releasing several soldiers in Czerka uniforms.

"Hands in the air, stay where we can see you!"

Alan happily obliged, raising his hands over his head. A dozen armed guards were now encircling the camp. Oryon sighed and stood, his hands in the air.

"Don't try it, doc. They got us dead to rights."

Oryon frowned at Alan. "You've miscalculated our chances." From the corner of his eye, he could see Lilia peeking her head through the opening of her tent. "We don't surrender."

"I do! I surrender!" Alan spoke loudly enough to make sure he could be heard by all. Two Czerka guards came up behind Alan and Oryon. One cuffed Alan quickly, twisting his hands behind his back. The other never got his chance. He grabbed Oryon's wrist, and promptly found himself on his back.

The Chiss operative moved like a ghost, drawing his vibroblade and stabbing the man in the chest. "Holy shavit!" Alan cried out and backed away. Oryon removed his blade and went to work, taking down the guard that had cuffed Alan. Lilia seized the moment to emerge from her tent and ignite her green lightsabers, striking out at the guards on the far side of the camp.

The next few minutes were a blur. Alan fell to the ground, still cuffed. Oryon and Lilia fought against the Czerka guards, blades and bolts flying through the air. Even Mit managed to draw a sidearm and fire off several shots from his prone position.

The sound of a new lightsaber igniting cut through the battlefield. Lilia paused, suddenly aware of a black presence on the battlefield. A Sith Lord emerged from the service hatch, steam rising all around him. He turned and gestured to Lilia, a voice like ice emerging from behind the dark mask he wore. "Come then, little one."

Lilia grit her teeth and charged the Sith, striking with furious speed. The Sith Lord calmly countered each attack, his posture and demeanor was still, as though he were simply batting at an insect. Lilia struck with both sabers, one after another, favoring speed to strength. In the end, she was not fast enough. The Sith Lord saw his opening and struck her hard in the chest with the palm of his hand, hard enough to knock her flat on her back, her lightsabers falling from her hand. A quick slash of a burnt-orange saber rendered both weapons unusable. A sharp kick to the face provided the same effect to Lilia.

"That was a mistake." A smooth voice came from behind the Sith, and was knocked forward a few feet as something struck his back. He stumbled for a step, and turned to face his Chiss attacker. Oryon was looking down at his vibroknife, which had shattered against the Sith's armor.

"Disappointed? You'll have to do better than that."

Oryon dropped the knife and cracked his knuckles. "I suppose I will." He adopted a fighting stance, unarmed.

The Sith shrugged. "Very well." He swung his saber wide, coming down at an angle over Oryon's head. Oryon raised his defenses and took the blow on his left forearm. There was a flash of light, and the saber was reflected. The Sith took a few steps backwards, surprised that the Chiss still had his arm.

Oryon removed his long white coat, revealing dark black bracers on his arms that shined with a familiar sheen.

"Cortosis. Clever."

"I've learned to be prepared for errant Sith trying to kill me." Oryon adopted his stance again.

The Sith said not a word, but assumed his own offensive stance.

Oryon paused for a moment, and then struck out at the attacker, a flurry of snaps and kicks. He pulled out every move he ever learned in Imperial Intelligence, and unleashed a devastating combination of attacks intended to maim, paralyze, and subdue an opponent. The Sith struck back lightly several times, testing his opponent. The cortosis bracers held up nicely, parrying each attack. The Sith was impressed, but tired of this game. He sidestepped the Agent, who counted the move with duck and twist, but was woefully unprepared for the rock that flew out of his peripheral and smashed his nose. Oryon went to his knees, blood obscuring his vision, and soon the world went black as the Sith Lord struck the back of his head, bringing him down.

The Sith viewed the battlefield. The soldier had been disarmed and was being strapped into a carrier. The blonde, olive-skinned man was in cuffs and being led down into the service hatch. The Jedi and the Chiss were unconscious at his feet. And yet he still felt a presence. A presence that seemed oddly familiar...

"That is enough!" Elder Halcyon had emerged from his meditation to find his camp under attack, and this made him very, very angry. His beard bristled as he drew his power up within himself and faced the Sith Lord.

"You look familiar, old man. Didn't I kill you once before?" The Sith's processed voice came filtered through the mask. Elder did not choose to acknowledge this comment. The Sith shrugged and ignited his saber. "Always grateful for a second chance to make a first impression."

Elder saw his friends defeated, beaten and broken, and glared at the Sith. He drew deep within himself and unleashed a wave of Force energy powerful enough to shatter the forward section of the crashed ship. The Sith Lord merely raised his hand and took the brunt of the blast, absorbing the energy and storing it, creating a feathery aura around him.

Elder took a step backwards in horror. "No, that technique...the Tutaminis..."

The Sith Lord stood straight up and pooled the absorbed energy into preparing his own Force blast. "It's a family trait."

The Sith blasted Elder with his own attack, matching the Jedi's in strength and the doubling it with the absorbed blast. Elder was sent flying backwards, striking the ground hard. He did not get back up.

The Sith Lord examined the battlefield, and raised his comm. "This is Darth Pravitas. We now have every living Halcyon in custody. Returning to base."


	24. Chapter 24

_**Elsewhere, Elsewhen...**_

The sky was on fire.

The war had raged for weeks now, without pause nor mercy. The invading horde had been foretold by small cadre of heralds, who had arrived on the planet and prophesied its doom. The native species, sentient yet primitive, had taken these heralds as threats, and quickly overpowered them. The herald's corpses still hung from the trees when the conquerors entered the system.

They had swarmed the planet immediately, razing the simple cities and villages to scorched earth. Their armies marched through the streets and executed dissenters in public. To call this war was a misnomer, this was subjugation. The natives did their best to organize a resistance, but they stood no chance against the superior firepower of the opposing force. As the days passed, the invaders slowly made their way across the planet, scanning each populated area for a very specific energy signature before taking the area by storm.

Occasionally, the resistance met was enough to hold back the aggressors for a short time. When the advance was delayed, the front lines inevitably received a visit from the Brigadier General. The General would lead the charge against the resistance, and soon the marching lines would be moving forward again.

On the front lines, the battles waged on, and all was witnessed by the mighty flagship Acheron above, where the slaughter amounted to little more than blips on the screen. One man, Lt. Colonel Marxon was taking notes on how quickly the blips disappeared. He carried a datapad, one that had marked the end of more lives than perhaps any other, and on the cold silence of the bridge, he logged the eminent death of yet another world.

"Colonel Marxon, sir!" A young officer quickly approached the Colonel, who set aside his datapad for a moment. The Colonel waited for the officer to offer her salute, and promptly returned it.

"Report, Hayes.

"Sir!" The young Officer Hayes brought out a datapad of her own and began her report of the battles below. "The Eastern front has finished their sweep of the area, and are holding the populus per our usual stratagem. The Western front met some trouble with the natives near the southern continent, but Brigadier General Haborym was able to break the siege and continue the operation. We believe we are narrowing down the search for the anomaly signature, and now suspect that we will find our target in the southern area."

Marxon nodded. "Thank you, Hayes. Mind the monitors for me while I pass the report along to our Lord." Hayes saluted and took over the databanks. Marxon promptly headed for the lifts, where he set the destination for the Temple.

* * *

The flagship was massive, a worthy leader for the fleet it led. Not far aft of the bridge, an obsidian pyramid was constructed, giving the ship its signature look. It was here, in this Temple of Darkness, that the Warrior-God of this civilization made his home. Few were allowed to enter the temple, and even fewer were allowed to leave.

Lt. Colonel Marxon exited the lift near the entrance to the temple, and keyed in his authorization code on the access panel next to the large doors. A soft chime indicated the approval of his arrival, and the black doors opened to receive their visitor.

Inside the temple, there was very little light. The air was warm and musty, and black foliage grew along the walls. The occasional light panel made visible the mist and dust in the air, as well as no shortage of insects that thrived in such a humid environment. Occasionally, the Colonel would step in something that had just a little too much give to the weight of his step, and he would quicken his pace, having learned the hard way that it was better to hurry on rather than look at what, or who, he had just stepped in.

The Lt. Colonel approached the inner sanctum of the temple, where there was a little more light thanks to the firepits near the main altar. The altar itself was a sight to behold, a dark stone structure covered in the bones of a long dead species. Years of sacrifice had stained the altar a deep red, which matched perfectly the tone of the sanctum, which was adorned in red drapes and stunk with the wet, warm smell of blood.

Behind the altar, a large tent was erected, and small tendrils of smoke were rising from the opening near the top. Colonel Marxon approached the tent, stopping just outside and snapping to attention. "My Lord! News from the front."

A loud grunt could be heard inside the tent, and the opening parted. Marxon bowed his head as his Lord emerged, half-naked and smoking a great pipe. The Warrior-God was enormous, easily three times the size of the average human male, and smoke circled his head like a wreath. The room was dark, but his blood-red tint of his skin was readily apparent, earning him his reputation as a great demon.

"Report, Lt. Colonel."

"Sir. We believe we are closing in on the anomaly, we believe you will have your prize within a matter of hours."

"Excellent news, Colonel. And what of my General?"

"General Haborym has been breaking the resistance on the front lines for a week now, and shows no signs of slowing, sir."

"Most excellent. He is truly my greatest disciple."

"Indeed, my Lord. I wanted to give you the report early, as it were, as I know you were looking forward to being present when the final prophet arrived."

The large man took another draw from his pipe, and nodded. "Well done, Colonel. Have the praetorians prepare for my arrival."

"Yes, my Lord Asmodeus."

The demon lord turned and entered his tent, and Marxon hurried his pace back to the bridge, careful not to look down.

* * *

"We have a new arrival incoming! Prepare the rack for expansion!" Praetorian One was giddy at the thought of the final piece of the puzzle finally clicking into place, and running his domain with an iron fist, daring the other prophets of their religion to make a mistake, any mistake, and risk the wrath of their Lord. He was Selkath, late on in his years, but had been serving on the Acheron ever since he was a young man.

The bottom deck of the cruiser had been transformed into a dark and twisted place, a cruel blending of machine and magic, science and religion. The Praetorians were all scientists and engineers once, but now they were high priests in the theocratic war machine of the Dark Lord Asmodeus. Praetorians used their technical abilities to harness and quantify the incredible feats and potential of the dark side of the Force, and their God-king had a very specific use in mind for them.

At the center of the lower deck, a yellow glow emanated from a recessed platform. It was circular in shape, with a diameter ten meters across opened a platform two meters below. Around the outer wall of this platform hung the prophets, singular beings of unique connection to the Force, all radiating the same energy signature unlike any found in the known universe. The were garbed in robes, their arms outstretched, hanging mere inches from the floor. They were cared for by the Praetorians, insomuch as they could be. They were kept unconscious, as the pain of being strapped to the Gateway device would be unbearable to endure. Thankfully, only one more prophet was needed, only one more world had to burn for the Gateway to be complete.

"Praetorian One, your holiness! A moment of your time, please?" One of the lesser bishops called for attention. The robed Selkath joined the bishop near his work station. This particular bishop was a recent convert, and had been a biologist in his former life. He had been forcefully converted to service on the Acheron to help solve a problem they were having with keeping the prophets subdued.

"Your holiness, I believe I have located the source of the issue." He gestured to a clear tank of fluid, where several nasty worm creatures swam about leisurely. "So far, we've been using a combination of Gaxxan brain-slugs and a diluted kolto residue."

Praetorian One nodded. "Yes, the slugs deteriorate the mind, making them more susceptible to the Holy Chaos, while the kolto keeps the mind regenerating just enough to keep them alive for our purposes."

The bishop was clearly disturbed by the notion, but early on had learned the hard way to accept his station. "That is correct, our Lord needs them connected to ...to the-"

"The Holy Chaos."

"...-yes, th-the Holy Chaos, for the purposes of the Gateway. But obviously, this would be agony for the prophets if we did not keep them comatose and in a constant state of regeneration. Thus far, the brain-slugs we've used have been enough to deteriorate the mind at a pace about even with that of the kolto's regeneration effect."

"But not anymore?"

"It would seem that way. Years of biologically engineering these brain-slugs, they've slowly been learning to adapt. They are feeding off the kolto as well as the brain tissue of the prophets, and this combination is...well, it's warping them. They are growing stronger, and developing symbiotic relationships with their hosts."

"What are you suggesting, Bishop?"

The young man adjusted his spectacles. "Well, aside from the fact that if any of the prophets ever came out of their coma, they would be full exposed to the...th-the Holy Chaos, they'd probably be in perpetual pain, half-mad...sir they'd be monsters."

Praetorian One smiled and put a hand on the bishop's shoulder. "Fear not, young man. The prophets are here to give their lives for our Lord's ascension. We do not need them functional a sentient beings, their higher purposes are to be vessels for Gateway, nothing more." He patted the young man on the shoulder. "Keep up the good work, son."

"Yes, your holiness." The young man eyed the prophets on the wall, a look of deep regret and sympathy on his face. "Yes, sir."

* * *

A cheer resounded throughout the Acheron, the prophet had been found!

News had come only a short time before, General Haborym had found the prophet's energy signature in a small village as he led his armies in victory across the continent. He had promptly captured the prophet and brought them aboard for their Lord's inspection. This was a very important day, as the discovery of the final prophet meant that the Gateway could be activated, and everyone on board the ship celebrated the culmination of their decade-long campaign.

On the bridge, the mood was akin to a party. Drinks were served, music was playing, and everyone lifted their glasses to Brigadier General Haborym, who stood in silence near the front of the bridge. He was tall, powerful in frame, and wore a stern look at all times. His military uniform was cut tight against his figure, and he was a sharp and imposing presence in any room he entered. He stood at attention on the bridge, ignoring the festivities, patiently waiting for the arrival of his master.

"Holy Father on deck!"

The announcement was made by Praetorian One, and immediately the celebration died. The music was quickly shut off, every drink was set aside, and every military man and woman, save one, in the room dropped to one knee. The hooded procession began as priest after priest entered the bridge. The procession was grand and over-blown, must to Lord Asmodeus' style, and Haborym waited patiently at attention pulling his cap down over his eyes, his expression calm and concerned.

At long last, the God-King stepped on the bridge.

He was a sight to behold in his ceremonial armor, huge and red. His helmet was covered in animalistic horns, the tips of which burned with incense, giving off streams of smoke. His chestpiece featured enormous spikes on his shoulders, and his arms were adorned with strips of ribbon torn from the flags of the various cultures he had conquered. Behind him flew a mighty cape, thick and lined with fur. Asmodeus was large to begin with, but wearing his armor made him seem twice so, and the effect was startling to all who beheld him.

As Asmodeus approached, General Haborym finally bowed his head to his master. "My undying lord, may you live forever."

Asmodeus pushed aside the priests walking ahead of him and approached the General warmly. "My most faithful disciple. General Haborym, I've heard you have good news for me."

"Yes, my lord. We have captured the final prophet. But I fear we may have a problem." He stepped to the side and revealed behind him a young woman cradling a child in her arms. The baby girl was asleep, and the look of terror was plain in the young woman's face.

Asmodeus stepped forward, forcing Haborym to step back. The enormous Warrior reached out his arm and gently stroked the face of the young woman, who shuddered away from his touch and let tears begin to fall. "Oh she is lovely. I see no problem here, General, I think she will do fine."

"My lord, the prophet is the child."

Asmodeus straightened back up to his full height. "I see."

Haborym held his breath, uncertain of how this was going to proceed. He had spent years of his life fighting his lord's enemies, and had no issue with fighting wars in the name of his deity. Surely, however, the life of an infant child...?

With unexpected speed, Asmodeus quickly turned and began marching back down the bridge, his cape billowing behind him. "Bring them both to the Gateway. Immediately."

Cheers erupted on the bridge once again, and Haborym found himself doubting his faith for the first time in his life.

* * *

"Let the preparations commence!"

The celebration had made its way down to the lower deck, where the Gateway was being prepared for activation. Surges of energy swirling through the device, and the hanging prophets on the wall twitched every time the electric shocks passed through them.

Haborym dutifully led the young woman and her child down to the Gateway temple, but stopped just short of entering, allowing the Honor Guard to escort the prophet to her final moments. Haborym begged off, claiming he needed something from his quarters before the ceremony began. He walked away, his demeanor heavy, uncertain of what he was about to do.

Asmodeus stood at the lip of the gate, looking down on the prophets below him. So long he has waited for this moment, but soon...

"Rejoice, my brethren!" Praetorian One addressed the masses. "Today, we ascend!"

The priest went to take the child from her mother, who finally found her courage to fight. She pulled and screamed and clawed and bit, but the child was wrested from her arms. Both mother and child screamed in fear, and Lord Asmodeus stood patiently by the lip of the gateway, awaiting the arrival of the final prophet.

Suddenly, a flash of light, and Praetorian One screamed. The crowd gasped in shock, and Asmodeus turned to find Haborym standing before him, his sword drawn in one hand, the prophet child in another. He faced his master with a determination that Asmodeus had seen before on the battlefield, and both men felt their hearts racing.

"My lord. I beg a moment of your time and consideration."

Asmodeus was amused by this, and stood facing his General. "You've attacked my High Priest."

"A lesser species, my lord. His injury was worth the attention it bought."

"Very well then, General. Speak."

Haborym cradled the child in his arm tightly, the infant was beginning to calm down. "My Lord, the child will grow quickly, and we've waited this long already. What harm is there in taking extra time to prepare for the ascension while the child grows to adulthood? You've never been one to skip on preparation, and we do not know if a child this small even contains enough power to complete the circuit."

Asmodeus considered all of this for a moment, and the congregation held their breath. Finally, the demon-lord spoke. "You've never been one for sentiment, Haborym. The child's life is insignificant when compared to what we are about to achieve. In fact, the child's life is elevated by its divine purpose. The ceremony proceeds."

Haborym tightened his lips and pointed his sword at Asmodeus, drawing gasps from the crowd again. "I'm sorry, my Lord. But I cannot let that happen."

Asmodeus bowed his head in deference, an action that raised the General's suspicions. "Very well, Haborym. I respect your commitment to your ideals."

Haborym tightened his grip on the child.

Asmodeus continued. "And thank you. For your many years of service."

The Warrior-God leapt forward, and Haborym extended his sword arm, piercing Asmodeus in the shoulder, the blade erupting through the far side of his back. Asmodeus struck Haborym hard enough to loosen his grip on both the sword and the child, and both fell to the ground. The child was quickly scooped up by a nearby priest, and began screaming.

Asmodeus and Haborym, two of the most feared warriors in this galaxy, battled above the Gateway. Yellow energy swirled around them as these two titans dueled, Asmodeus' great size and strength against Haborym's speed and brutality. However, all present that day learned why Asmodeus was called the Warrior-God, and soon Haborym found himself broken and bleeding, his head being held tightly against one of the bishop's desks. He struggled against the much larger man, and spit blood.

"Poor, poor Haborym. I had hoped you would meet an honorable death." He nodded softly to himself. "But your own misguided and selfish grab at honor has earned you a much worse fate."

Asmodeus reached over the desk, where the Gaxxan brain-slugs were swimming in the kolto solution. "You will live, Haborym. And you will continue to serve me. In this world, and the next." Haborym struggled as Asmodeus pinched one of the worms from its container, and slowly lowered it into Haborym's ear.

Haborym screamed as the slug immediately went to work, burrowing deep into his skull and diving into the brain. Asmodeus released the tormented man, who fell to the ground clutching his head and screaming. The gathered masses bowed their head as Asmodeus watched Haborym thrash on the ground, his cries echoing through the chamber.

With Haborym still writhing on the ground, Asmodeus collected the child, whose screamed echoed that of her rescuer. The Dark Lord carried the prophet down into the gateway device, and began strapping the infant in. He fastened an extra strap to hold the child in place, briefly taking a moment to place a hand on her belly, and ascended the platform again. He passed a secondary Praetorian carrying the jar of brain-slugs down into the device, and Asmodeus stepped over to Haborym as the slug was administered to the child.

Asmodeus grabbed Haborym by the shoulders and lifted him to his feet. The Zabrak's eyes had turned glossy, his ears were bleeding, and his expression was blank. His mouth slowly twitched into a smile, and slow giggles began slipping from his mouth. Asmodeus looked into Haborym's face and spoke to him while the machine powered up. "Over ten years I have waited for this moment, and the life of one child is not enough to stop me now. The Nexus WILL be mine!"

Haborym nodded and watched as the machine fired to life, electric sparks and energy swirls rotating faster, ever faster within. The young mother sobbed a few feet away from them, and Asmodeus turned his head, taking note of her. He leaned down and whispered in Haborym's ear. "My apprentice...aren't you hungry?"

Haborym giggled again, turning to face the young woman. He nodded and licked his lips.

The child screamed.

The prophets screamed.

The mother screamed.

Asmodeus smiled.

Asmodeus screamed.

"Oh my, that was a big one, wasn't it?" Dr. Passus stood behind Asmodeus, still strapped to the table, his chest cavity opened, and he could feel warmth on the back of his head. Passus was working a pair of tools that had punctured the back of Asmodeus' head, and was feeding him his own memories, over and over again.

"Let's see if we can't get that one to fire off again, shall we?"

The hallways echoed as Asmodeus relived his sins, over and over and over again.


	25. Chapter 25

Even in the darkest of moments, there is a glimmer of hope. It is hope that keeps people moving when their world is crumbling around them. It is a principle that has kept the Halcyons fighting for all their lives, the idea that no matter how bad things got, there was always hope on the horizon. Something to reach for, something to strive towards, something to fight for.

Today, there was not much hope to go around.

Darth Pravitas had led the charge that captured the remaining Halcyons, and they were taken back to the Tartarus Facility in chains. Each were stripped of their provisions and tossed in a tiny, lightless cell. Some of the more energetic of them, such as Bakurro, tried to fight their way out, but were quickly subdued by Czerka shock-sticks.

Quarros was taken to the armory and placed in a vegetative state. His deep consciousness was occupied by submissal program that kept him docile and in hibernation until he could be reprogrammed. He was locked away with the other deadly weapons of war, dreaming of his former life.

Days passed. The prisoners were starved and interrogated one by one. Pravitas oversaw the torture personally, taking advantage of his newfound livelihood. The days were filled with torment, the nights with quiet solitude. Slowly, one by one, that last glimmer of hope began to fade away.

* * *

The Corral, the decadent nightclub of Kalna the Hutt, was bustling for their grand event. The club was a place where the weary hardworking forces of Czerka could blow off steam and raise their moral, which was often in short supply on remote operations such as this. Therefore, in the interest of preserving the sanity and well-being of their employees, certain regulations were often overlooked. Kalna delighted in providing his clients with the latest and greatest in spice, drinks, and sex trade. If you wanted to beat a man to death with your bare hands, the outside galaxy would call you a criminal. At the Corral, a VIP pass got you anything your twisted little mind desired, and in an artificial world with no access to the outside galaxy, fresh meat was the greatest currency one could barter in.

The magnificent Kalna the Hutt was shuffling his way around the main room, shouting orders to various slaves and servants, wanting every detail perfect. The annual bash had been delayed due to the interference of Dr. Passus, but Kalna would look on the positive side, as usual, and use the extra few days to make this party their grandest yet. He took pride in his work, and he demanded no less from his workers.

"Yo! Tighten up that scaffold light! If it droops again I'm putting you on VIP duty! Hey! Get that table wiped down, this ain't your dirty apartment, bro! And I swear if I see one more lazy kark-face leaning against my bar I'm gonna dip him in sweet sauce and feed him to the k'lor'slugs!"

"Why do you have k'lor'slugs?"

Kalna turned to face the new voice, and was met with tall man in a metal suit of armor. His helmet was dark, with a tall mohawk ridge, and he walked confidently down the stairs and onto the main floor.

Kalna smiled. "So I can feed people to 'em. Only thirty credits to watch, its a big attraction here." He looked the Sith over. "I know you, you're the new guy, right? Passus' little buddy."

The Sith stood with his hands behind his back and addressed the Hutt. "Darth Pravitas, at your service, sir."

Kalna took an immediate liking to the new addition to the team. "Sir?! That's good, ha ha! You're alright, kid." He shuffled over to Pravitas. "You know, your boss would never get caught down here in a million years. Glad to see his protege isn't too high and mighty to slum it with us ruffians." He outstretched his hand to the Sith.

Pravitas ignored the gesture, and continued with his duty. "My Master made you a promise. I am here to deliver."

Kalna let his hand drop back to his side, if he felt any insult by the rebuff, he chose not to show it. "Is that so? You know what I was promised, yes?"

Pravitas snapped his fingers, and the double-wide doors to the nightclub opened. In marched a guard escort, leading four prisoners inside. They were shackled by the hands and ankles, and shuffled with their heads down to the lower floor, where the Hutt awaited his prize.

"Fresh meat, I understand you call it?" Pravitas stepped over to the prisoners. "They're a bit bruised, but should suit your purposes. The Rattataki and the Twi'lek are no strangers to the pleasure trade, and will make fine entertainers. The human girl and the Cathar girl, they have little experience, but I understand that in itself carries value to some of your customers, is that correct?"

Kalna grinned a wide, malicious grin. For all his efforts to distance himself from the stereotypes of his species, at his heart was a proud, lustful creature, and when a trail of green slime began to spill from the corner of his mouth, he quickly straightened up and wiped it away. "Tell your Master we are squared away, bruh. And thank him for me. These four will do nicely."

Pravitas nodded, and gave a quick gesture to the guards. They filed out of the room, leaving the four prisoners to their fates. Kalna gave them a quick look over, and then called his assistant. "Bergu! Get the Warden! We've got new arrivals in need of training!"

* * *

Bakurro came to consciousness on the floor of an empty cell. He could feel where he had been shocked and kicked into submission by the guards, and cradled a bruised rib as he stood. His cell door had a small viewport with a series of bars, and he immediately threw himself against it and roared. His animalistic growls echoed down a long and dark hallway, and after the echoes died away, he could hear a voice echo back.

"Well, sounds like Junior's awake." The voice came from the hallway to the right of his cell.

"Huh! Whozzat! Come out here and I'll rip yer giblets off!"

"Charming as ever, nephew." A familiar voice joined the conversation, this time from the left. "I trust the blow to the head you suffered didn't make you any dumber than you already were."

"Volaro..." Bakurro growled and settled back down on the floor. "Who else is that out there?"

"Little ol' me." Alan answered. "There's a few of us in this wing, actually. Most don't feel like talkin' right now though."

The younger Cathar spit into the corner of his cell, and could smell blood in it. "How did you idjits get caught? Buncha amateurs."

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't realize that ending in a cell yourself was part of your master plan, there! Forgive me for minding my own damn business back at the camp!" Alan skipped a rock against the wall of his cell. "Hell, as far as I'm concerned, your little field trip led them right to us."

"Keep talkin, little man. When I get outta here I'll leave you to rot!"

Alan clasped his hands under his chin and cried out in falsetto, "Oh, fair prince! Please rescue me from this dungeon!"

"Shuddup, both of ya." Rodeo could be heard a few cells down. "I've got the worst headache of my life over here."

"I agree, pipe down." Oryon sounded particular worn down. He was trained to resist torture and interrogation, but Pravitas had been particularly thorough.

"Oryon, that you? Did everyone from the camp make it?"

Oryon was on his side in the corner of the room, heaving. He raised his voice so Rodeo could hear him. "Lilia was taken away, I do not know where. Same with Mitvekzuk. Elder is in the cell next to me, but he's not awake yet. Judging by the sound, he's got at least one broken bone, probably a forearm."

Rodeo counted on his fingers. Oryon had neglected to mention someone, and Rodeo chose not to ask out in the open. The Chiss was always working some kind of angle, and he knew better than to blow the lid off it while other ears might be listening. "Hey, that Sith. He's a piece of work, ain't he?"

Oryon heaved again. Nothing, dammit. He took a breath and looked up at the cell viewport. "He's dangerous, no question."

Rodeo twirling a rock between his fingers, leaning against the door. He was uncertain of how to bring up this next part, but it needed to be said. "He seemed...kind of familiar, didn't he? The voice, and all?"

Oryon stuck a finger down his throat and heaved again. He coughed, and answered. "It's not him, Rodeo. If Michael turned against us, we'd know it."

Bakurro's voice rang out. "Wait, you think that Sith guy was Mike? That fellow from the ship, like 90% sideburns?"

Alan piped in. "I knew something was off about that guy. Didn't sit right with me. Twenty credits says he planned this, just to get us all captured."

Rodeo shook his head. "I don't know, man. I'm just saying, he felt awfully familiar to me."

Oryon stuck a finger down his throat and gagged. He finally managed to vomit, the sounds of which could be heard all through the cell block.

"Aw man, you okay, blue?" Rodeo pressed his face against the viewport, futilely trying to look down the hallway.

Oryon sifted through the mess, and located a small silver device, no bigger than a thumbnail. He sighed, and leaned against the wall. "I will be, Rodeo." He pressed the end of the device, and a small red light began blinking. "I will be."

* * *

Back at the crash site, two Czerka soldiers stood guard, searching through the camp for anything useful. Very little had survived the wreckage, and the little bits that had were already scavenged. Still, they had managed to recover the rations that were set aside, and were happily helping themselves to the spoils. They laughed and told jokes as they plundered the campsite, searching through the personal effects of the refugees.

One in particular was rummaging through a suitcase when he found a pair of skimpy pink underwear. He laughed to himself and carried it outside the tent to show the other guard. He walked over to the campfire where the other guard sat, and twirled the garment around on a finger, chuckling to himself. He reached out to show the other guard, but got no reaction.

He stepped over the log to get in front of his partner, and stumbled backwards when he saw the wound in his forehead.

He fell backwards, nearly tumbling into the fire. He scrambled to his feet and began a mad dash for his pack, where he could comm for help.

He never made it. A second before he could reach for the comm, a muffled pew rang through the night, and the soldier fell to his knees, a scorch mark burnt into the back of his head. He balanced there for a moment, and then fell over.

A moment of silence passed, and then a small form emerged from the sand and dusted off his rifle. It had not been easy for Foster to hide during the ambush, but Oryon had insisted, and the young Intelligence agent had deferred to his superior officer. He pulled a small device from his pack, no bigger than a thumbnail, with a small blinking red light on the end. Now that the transponder had been activated, he had a bearing on the location where his compatriots had been taken.

Foster raided the packs the Czerka guards had brought, stocking up on ammo and rations. He had executed rescue missions behind enemy lines before, but never on this grand of a scale. He loaded a fresh energy pack into his rifle.

 _Time to fight back._

* * *

"Yeaarrrrrghh!"

Akator screamed into the darkness that made up his digital world. The pain was excruciating, and very physical. The AI called Latrika that had served as the mouthpiece for his rescuers waited for the pain to die down before continuing her line of questioning.

"How long have you had your cybernetic enhancements, Akator?"

Akator gripped his head and cried out in pain. "Why does this hurt?!"

"My masters are testing your threshold for pain, they are trying to determine your limitations. How long have you had your cybernetic enhancements, Akator?"

Akator stood straight and shouted at Latrika. "Years now! I've told you all this before! Why do you keep asking?"

Latrika was unfazed by his hostility. "You made an agreement with us, Akator. We get access to study your remains and memories, and in return you regain a physical form. Shouting at me accomplishes nothing."

Akator growled and paced back and forth. "My friends are down there, on that world. I don't know how many survived, or if they are in trouble." He stopped at yelled at her again. "They need my help! I have to get there, now!"

Latrika closed her eyes, communing with her masters. The sky went dark, and a booming alien voice resonated through the chamber. Latrika opened her eyes and smiled. "Your physical form is indeed ready, Akator. And you have performed admirably under our studies. Our contract is nearly complete."

Akator ran his fingers through his hair. "Thank the gods."

"There is but one final inquiry my masters wish to ask of you."

He crossed his arms impatiently. "Well? Out with it!"

She regarded him carefully, looking over his mental avatar, a humanoid body almost entirely comprised of mechanical parts, a human brain augmented with digital programming, even his face was covered with cybernetics, red lights glowing where his eyes should have been. "Are you man, or machine?"

Akator was taken aback by the question, one so simple, so expected, and yet he found himself hesitant to answer. He gathered his thoughts for a moment, and spoke.

"I used to think I had to be one or the other. I prided myself in cold detachment, hiding behind the guise of a droid. And when I finally found a place to fit in, a place where I was accepted for who I was, I found it difficult to adapt. I embraced my mechanical side, to the detriment of what made me human.

"It wasn't until we faced death that I realized I had it wrong. I did not fear death, myself, what droid would? But the thought of my new friends, my new family, the thought of them dying...it was unacceptable to me, and I realized that I could not bury my human side any longer.

"I tried my hardest to give my life in order to protect those I cared about, and since then I've had a lot of time to think about it. I am grateful for my enhancements, but they do not define me, or make me who I am."

He looked up at the sky, and met the challenge of his rescuers with a mighty voice.

"I am Akator, of House Cortess and the Halcyon clan, Knight of Alderaan and Guardian of the Nexus, and I am no droid!"

The sky darkened again, but no voice came raining down. Instead, the simulation began to slowly fall away, digitizing into nothingness.

"I am human." He whispered to himself.

"I believe you are, Akator Halcyon. It was a pleasure to meet you. I hope to see you again one day." Latrika smiled, and her avatar fizzled away into digital cubes.

* * *

 _gasp!_

Akator woke with a start, sitting up and drawing breath. He was on a strange ship, dark and gray. Blue and orange lights flew across the walls and floor, and the air was wet. He looked around, letting his artificial eyes scan and record the environment. A heavy force pressed against his back, and when his eyes focused, he saw an enormous tentacled alien pushing him out of the bed.

"Woah woah woah!" He was pushed to the floor, and stood on his own two feet.

 _Wait...my feet? My body!_

He looked down at himself and pressed his hands against his chest, his legs, his arms. He was clad in white armor, of a design similar to that of the ship around him. His body had been completely rebuilt, and he felt stronger than ever before. A quick system check revealed that he had been heavily upgraded from his condition before, his speed and strength were tripled, his processors enhanced, and personal shield generator was embedded in his spine. The readout indicated a 400% boost in combat effectiveness, and Akator could not help but smile.

"This...this is amazing! You built me back better than ever! Thank you!" He turned to the cephalopod to thank the alien, but it only bowed its head in deference.

"My Masters wish to thank you for your cooperation in their experiment, mister Akator." A silver protocol droid shambled awkwardly into the room. "They express their gratitude by sharing their technology with you, and wish you good fortune in future travels."

Akator laughed and wrapped the droid in a great hug. "Tell them they saved my life, and I am forever in their debt."

"My masters have no further need of you, mister Akator. But I will pass along the message. Follow me, please."

The droid led Akator through the ship, passing several of the tentacled creatures along the way. "Your body has been enhanced with our technology, and you will find it most helpful in your task. Your right thigh contains a new blaster, also fitted with our technology. You will find it much more effective than conventional weaponry, I'm sure. We will also be providing you with a transport, capable of short range interplanetary travel, as well as terran-based movement." He opened the hangar door, and showed Akator to his new transport, which amounted to little more than a seat with several handles and footholds.

Akator looked dubious at first, but when he sat in the device, it lit up, glowing blue and displaying a full ship's hud in front of him. He powered up the repulsors, and felt the power in the little craft. "Amazing."

"Will you be requiring anything further, mister Akator?" The silver protocol droid bowed slightly, indicating dismissal.

"Think you can drop me off back where you found me?"

The droid gestured to the hangar bay doors, which opened into the blackness of space. About a kilometer out, a miniature rift opened, swirling and pulsing with energy. "We've opened the irregularity. Fly through it, and you will be deposited back in the pocket dimension where we found you."

Akator powered up the craft, ready to test out his new body and toys. "Tell your bosses thanks again for me." He twisted the handle bar, and the craft shot out of the hanger and out into space. With breakneck speed, it flew through the hyperspace irregularity and disappeared.

"Go with fortune, Gold Bisector."

Even in the darkest of moments, there is a glimmer of hope. It is hope that keeps people moving when their world is crumbling around them. It is a principle that has kept the Halcyons fighting for all their lives, the idea that no matter how bad things got, there was always hope on the horizon. Something to reach for, something to strive towards, something to fight for.

As Foster and Akator each set upon their rescue missions, they began to feel hope. Hope that any obstacle could be overcome. Hope that they, and their clan, might one day see their homes again.


	26. Chapter 26

The sun was shining high, beams of light broke through the upper canopy and illuminated the homestead below. It was a modest little farm on a modest stretch of land, surrounded by a low wall. There were a handful of small gardens around the main house, and the green grass around was littered with children's toys. Inside the wall, it was picturesque, a perfect beginning of a new life. The turrets, however, reminded the inhabitants that outside the wall life was not so picture perfect.

The reclamation efforts on Taris were beset on all sides by plague, infestation, hostile wildlife, and Imperial interference. Settling the land was dangerous work, but the Republic was so eager to get Taris recolonized that anyone willing to help in the effort was able to get their land cheap, and some areas were safer than others. This homestead in particular was in a relatively protected section, not far from a Republic outpost. And the walls and defense turrets helped keep the rakghouls away at night.

Every so often, however, they would get brave. The turrets had always protected them, but when the ghouls pushed hard enough, the wall could be damaged. And so it was that a tall Mirialan man found himself on his hands and knees, mixing duracrete and patching the wall that kept his family safe.

"Daddy!"

The man looked up to see his daughter, all of six years old, running around the wall to him. She laughed and ran to him with arms outstretched, her green skin shining in the light. She lept into his arms and he held her tightly. Seeing her here, so vibrant, so happy, it gave hope that life could return to even such a world as this.

"Jormea, dear, you know I don't like you going outside the wall."

"Mommy says dinner is ready!" Her voice was soft and sweet, his own little angel.

"Alright kiddo. Let's go in." Jormea and her father held hands and walked together to the gate. A stone path led to the front entrance of the humble little house, where Imira was inside, setting the table. It was a wonderful little life they led, and for the first time in his life, Quarros had found happiness.

A slow beep of the monitor was the only outside indication that the being once known as Quarros was still living. His mechanical body had been powered down, and his conciousness uploaded into a simulation designed to keep him happy and unaware of his true surroundings. His chestpiece was unlit, and he hibernated peacefully, awaiting his reprograming.

* * *

The Warden of the Corral was burly Gamorrean with a foul temper. He and his team of thugs were in charge of breaking in the new talent, and cruelty was the most-used tool of the trade. When this latest batch of beaten and bruised slaves were handed over to him, he began a betting pool with his crew, wagering which one would break first. Personally, he wagered on the Twi'lek. Too pretty to be hardened, he had all the look of a pleasure slave.

The Twi'lek and the Rattataki men were to be entertainment above the dance floor. They'd be given a dancer's outfit and made to dance in cages suspended from the ceiling. The two girls, a human and a Cathar, would be serving drinks near the VIP lounge, made available as potential 'private company' should a client desire. The Warden had broken men and women of just about every species, and had developed a natural talent for spotting trouble before it happened. The only one that worried him was the big Rattataki. That one was built for battle, and posed the greatest threat should the training turn violent.

Therefore it was Barrow that received the unprovoked shockstick to the ribs once the training began.

"Gotta keep them subdued, boys. Let'em know who the boss is!" The Warden slipped his shockstick back onto his belt. "If the shocker don't keep 'em in line, let me know and I'll let them meet the Twins." He grinned and pointed with his thumb to the large vibro-axes crossed on his back. He was large, even for a Gamorrean, with an abundance of flab reaching over the front of his belt. He swaggered and swayed like a bantha when he walked, and his gait was echoed by the clinking of the axes on his back.

Two other guards were enjoying themselves by kicking Arbokk into submission. The red-skinned Twi'lek tried to cover himself from the worst of the blows, but his wrists and ankles were bound, and he gained many new bruises and scrapes. Through the entire process designed to break them, the men refused to speak, even abstaining from cries of pain when possible. Both men had been in difficult positions before, and neither intended to give their captors the satisfaction.

Lilia and Adara were dressed in scant little slave outfits, demeaning for any, but particularly bothersome for the Cathar, who could not hold back a near constant hiss as their instructions were relayed to them. They were told to serve the drinks quietly and quickly, and to not throw up a scene if the clients got handsy. To keep them in line, both were fitted with shock collars befitting slaves, and each time they stepped out of line both of them received a nasty shock.

It took a few hours of shocks and beatings, but eventually the Warden had the four new prisoners under his control. Maybe not with the best of attitudes, but the end result was the same. The men would dance, the girls would serve, and a few quick kolto applications healed the bruises and other marks. The big party was tonight, and the Warden and his twin axes would be on-hand to ensure that the servants stayed in line.

* * *

Darth Pravitas, once called Michael Halcyon, held his hands clasped firmly behind his back as the turbolift carried him down, down, deep beneath the Tartarus Facility. Since his reawakening, he had been merely content to follow his Master's bidding, without asking too many questions. But now that he had gotten to stretch his legs again, questions were beginning to creep up. Who were these other men and women who carried his name? Why were they here?

Passus had promised to answer all these questions and more, and had invited his apprentice down into his secret sanctuary, located at the very core of the artificial planet. He travelled down for what felt like an impossibly long time before the lift slowed and the doors parted, opening into massive cave.

The cavern was dark, with only a few small light panels along the path. The air was thick and musty, with an uncomfortable warm to it. Several lights illuminated a stone-fed path, offering a strange terran aesthetic, a sharp contrast to the cold sterile walls of the facility above. The path led to a very old temple, almost certainly Sith in origin. As Pravitas walked the path up to the temple, he noted the strange markings on the walls. They were Sith, of that there was no question, but there was something alien about them. Whatever these ancient Sith were, they were unlike the Sith of his home dimension.

He entered the temple to find his Master reflecting on the same markings on the wall. Passus was particularly contemplative in normal circumstances, but when engrossing himself on the topic of ancient cultures, he tended to get lost in his thoughts. Pravitas was used to this, and waited patiently to be acknowledged.

After a moment Passus looked to him and smiled. "Apprentice."

Pravitas kneeled. "Master."

"Up, up now. You've been away far too long, don't feel the need to prostrate yourself before me." Passus gestured to a small hieroglyph on the wall. "Tell me, what do you make of this?"

Pravitas stood and joined his master near the spot he had indicated. The glyph was small, rounded, rather unremarkable amongst the other markings that adorned the temple walls. It portrayed a winged figure, angelic in nature, wielding a mighty sword.

Pravitas shrugged and shook his head, unable to discern anything special about the mark. "Some kind of alien god, perhaps? It'd have to be relatively minor, to be given such an minor place in the grander design."

Passus nodded and smiled to himself. "I thought the same thing, at first. When I catalogued these designs many years ago, I barely paid this one any mind. But eventually, I discovered something very special about it."

"And what is that, my Master?"

Passus reached forward with a long, bony finger and pressed the glyph as a button. It gave slightly against his touch, and gave off a soft digital beep.

Stone ground against stone as the secret door opened before them, revealing a second, much older lift.

"For years I've been taking the long way down. Sometimes the way to your goal is much closer than you realize." Without explanation, Passus stepped forward to the lift, and Pravitas followed. Once on board, they descended further, deeper into the planet than Pravitas would have believed possible. And when this older, smaller lift opened, they found themselves in the remains of a shambled old lab.

It too, was dark, though the air felt much cleaner down here. A mess of papers and broken glass littered the floor, and the overall feeling was that this lab had not been occupied in quite some time. There was a smell of ...something unfamiliar. The lab itself was as ancient as the temple above, suggesting a strange merging of science and religion.

Near the end of the lab, there was a faint light, and a quiet crackling, as energy bounced from one point to another. Something was still functional down here. Wordlessly, Passus led Pravitas down the steps to the lower platform, and what Pravitas found there left him speechless.

"Master, what sorcery is this?"

"It is our salvation, apprentice. With this device, we can manipulate the gateways of the Nexus itself, and bend its powers to our will. It is this device that keeps the Halcyon's above deprived of their abilities, and it will empower us to rise to the top of the galaxy again."

Pravitas was stunned. "How will we achieve that, Master?"

Passus smiled again, a greedy look in his eye. "We shall harness the Nexus itself, and bring order. The Guardians above were exiled to a universe with no Nexus, and therein lay our prize." He turned and put a hand on Pravitas' shoulder. "I thought you should know what you were fighting for."

As Passus turned and headed back for the lift, Pravitas stared into the swirling golden energy below, and ignored the cries for help that emanated from it.

* * *

Foster tread slowly through the desert, drawing his shawl around his face as the air grew colder. He followed the signal emitted by the tracer Oryon had activated, though he knew not what he would do when he found his captured allies. Still, he trudged along, his rifle in tow, ready and willing to carry out this rescue mission by any means necessary.

Still, it never hurt to have backup.

The night sky lit up, and there was the loud crash of a sonic boom as the blue orb descended. Foster shielded his eyes as the craft lowered in front of him. It was highly advanced, technologically speaking, far beyond anything Foster had ever encountered. Foster raised his weapon upon the realization that there was a being inside, one that had apparently steered the device in such a manner as to deliberately land directly in front of him. After the ambush and capture of his fellows, Foster was taking no chances.

"Step out of the ship, slowly and with your hands in the air!" His hair blew around him as the craft completed its final landing sequence. The bright lights ebbed, and the blue orb faded from view, revealing its armor-clad occupant inside.

"At ease, Foster. I'm here to help."

Foster lowered his weapon and squinted at the newcomer, and his eyes widened when recognition finally hit him. "Akator?!"

Akator smiled warmly and approached Foster. "Where are the others? Yours was the only energy signature I detected." The smile disappeared as the implication became apparent. "Were you...the only survivor?"

Foster scratched his neck in bemusement. "I guess we both have some stories to tell the other."


	27. Chapter 27

_**Elsewhere, Elsewhen...**_

The Acheron sailed through the black seas of yet another galaxy, a dark harbinger foretelling the doom of another world. The ravages of time were beginning to show on its outer hull, the once proud and pristine Harrower was now fallen into disarray, entire platings of the hull now missing, revealing the structural framework beneath. The wars of a thousands worlds had left their marks as well, with scorch marks adorning the ship like dark scars. Where once the ship had represented the pride of its Fleet, now it heralded only death. The fleet was long gone, and only this dark vessel remained.

The crew fared not much better. For over a decade they served their lord, carrying out the executions of billions of souls for his bloodlust, journeying ever closer to his final goal. The passing time had not been kind, much of the crew had fallen by the wayside over the years, and those that remained bore little resemblance to the people they once were. Uniforms, once freshly pressed and cleaned now gave way to scraps of garments from whatever worlds were conquered. Robes and scraps of armor were now the norm, and personal grooming was as irrelevant now as it was once mandated. Only the faithful remained, and they were a disheveled and brutal lot.

Asmodeus roamed the ship like a hungry beast, restless for his prize. Constantly they jumped from galaxy to galaxy, jumping ever nearer to the Nexus with every step. With every new galaxy, he would rage and ravage, tearing a path through dimensions and becoming an unspoken fear through the worlds he left behind, his legend being spread through the cosmos. A great Demon, who arrived to set the sky on fire, his dark ship sailing on a river of the blood of a trillion souls.

The gateway device in the belly of the ship swirled, feeding on the life of the prophets within. It drew from the power of the Nexus itself, and granted a peculiar boon to those around it. To preserve the prophets inside, the gateway forbade death to all within its vicinity. A mortal wound became little more than a momentary annoyance, so long as the host body remained relatively intact, and the promise of eternal life was a compelling reward indeed.

There was another odd side effect. As a former Guardian himself, Asmodeus expected resistance from the Nexus' protectors with every galaxy he entered. Many fell before his mighty undying army, but now and then one or two would be particularly bothersome. When faced with a stubborn and driven Guardian, Asmodeus would lure the combatant onto his ship, and the Guardian would find himself unable to access his special abilities. Having been deprived of this power for so long, Asmodeus had no trouble adapting to combat without this extra power to lean on, and would defeat his foes handily, demolishing their bodies so as to ensure they could not take advantage of the peculiar vitality granted by the gateway.

And thus the dark ship Acheron sailed the cosmos with its undead crew, slowly edging ever closer to the Nexus and the ultimate power it represented.

* * *

Adara refused to scream as the shock collar forced her to her knees. The beastly Warden took pleasure in breaking his charges, and did not like to be defied. His job was nearly complete. The other three were tough, but had broken. They submitted, they screamed, and now they obeyed. But this one, this stubborn little Cathar welp, she refused to scream for him. She obeyed, she did what she was told, but she had yet to cry out for mercy, and while it was not a requirement for his training, he had to admit that it was his favorite part.

And yet even now, as she cowered on her knees in the degrading little slave outfit he had forced her to wear, the shock collar sending jolts of electricity through her body, frying her nerves, she refused to make a sound. She was tough, he'd grant her that. But he would not allow any slave to get the better of him.

"Stubborn little child. You'll scream for me, before we are done. Even if I have to break out the Twins 'ere." He gestured again to the large double axes crossing his back. "I'd rather not damage the merchandise if I can help it, but there are plenty of boys that don't mind playing with bruised fruit."

Adara scowled at him, but made no sound. Not far away, Lilia stood with her head bowed. She was dressed in the same skimpy slave outfit that Adara wore, and she carried a serving tray flat in front of her. Her long blond hair was drawn forward over her shoulders, at the Warden's request, and he had made several grotesque comments about how popular she would be among the off-duty soldiers.

Barrow and Arbokk were each dressed in silky shorts and forced into small cages where they would dance for the entertainment of all those at the party. While kolto presses had healed the outward markings of their beatings, they each nursed several bruised ribs, and could do little but look on in sadness as the girls struggled against the Warden's cruel 'training.'

Now and then Kalna would pass through, bellowing orders and checking on the progress of the fresh meat. The big party was this evening, and he wanted the new attractions ready. At this, the Warden would assure the Hutt that these new slaves would be ready to serve in plenty of time.

* * *

Pravitas joined Passus in an observation room, where Asmodeus was being tormented below. The great red Sith thrashed on the operating table as the device strapped to his head sparked and flashed. Several monitors nearby were monitoring his life signs, and medical droids drifted about, tending to his wounds and occasionally creating new ones. Passus stood over them as he watched the monitors, smiling softly into his hand as he thought.

Pravitas entered the room and waited quietly by the door for his Master to acknowledge him. He looked Passus over carefully. It had been many years since he had last seen his Master, and was comforted somewhat by the fact that he had not changed much. In the old days, when they served as Reapers together, the old man had always been crafty, with plans upon plans, manipulations on top of manipulations. It had given him an edge in a universe where he was already nigh-all powerful, and it had been small wonder that they had been able to hold their galaxy in line as well as they had. Pravitas, long since given up the name of Michael Halcyon, rested against the wall and thought gleefully towards the future plans that Passus had in store for them.

After a few moments, Passus noticed that Pravitas had entered the room, and his expression brightened considerably. "Apprentice, come, join me." He gestured for Pravitas to examine the monitors. "Look at this. The greatest killer in the history of galaxies, and he screams like a frightened child. This is power, apprentice. See this, and take note."

Pravitas looked down on Asmodeus as the device bore into his skull, sending electrical jolts into various sections of his brain to spark and incite flashbacks to different times of his life, forcing him to relive his sins. "It is a beautiful punishment, Master. A fitting end for so blasphemous a creature."

"You know, in many versions of reality, your counterparts and his were bitter enemies."

"I can feel it, Master, when I look upon him. A kind of...bitter hatred I cannot quite explain. There is something that binds us, I can feel that much." He looked at the monitors again, which carefully recorded the brain activity. "You are not just making him experience these memories. You are...recording them?"

Passus smiled again and noted how quickly his apprentice had picked up on this fact. Neither good nor bad, but simple a factoid to be filed away. Pravitas was quicker than he remembered. "Not just recording, either. Broadcasting."

Pravitas looked to his master with curiosity. "Broadcasting? To where? To whom?"

Passus looked back down at Asmodeus, quite enjoying the show. "As you well know, you Halcyons have a terrible habit of beating the odds. This is troublesome enough when you have one in containment, but we have a right infestation of them upstairs. I am not so vain or prideful to think that my plans are impervious to any machination. And even if I were, I would have a backup plan in place." He adjusted the switch on a monitor, and the feed changed to that of a person strapped down, not unlike Asmodeus below them.

Pravitas was confused again. "This one, sir? What makes her special?"

"Never you mind, apprentice. Trust me that she is. She is...our backup plan. Our insurance should things go poorly for us." He gestured down to the operating room. "All his sins, the memories that plague him now, the horrible deeds he committed in his search for ultimate power, they are being fed into her mind. Should the need arise, her stasis will be broken, and she will be our pocket ace, our deadly little final sanction against him and the other Halcyons."

Pravitas nodded, and politely excused himself. He would never admit it, but the image of the person on the screen bothered him. She had a look about her that he had never seen before, and it frightened him. To him, she represented death, even more so than his master. No, better that she lay below, in her prison of swirling golden energy...

* * *

"Papa!"

Quarros put down his tools and scooped his daughter up into his arms. She laughed and climbed onto his head, running her fingers through his long white hair. He fell to his side and rolled through the grass with her, cradling her in his arms. They laughed together as the sunbeams broke through the upper canopy. It was a perfect day in a perfect life.

"Mama needs you, papa!"

He nuzzled her cheek, causing her to break into giggles. "Well, we'd better go see what she needs, shouldn't we?"

They held hands and walked together back inside the compound, through the gated doors up to the homestead. Imira was inside, preparing their evening meal. She was beautiful, his own personal angel.

"Quarros, dear. We need milk, can you run to the outpost?"

Quarros patted his daughter Jormea on the back and sent her off to play. "No need to go all the way to the outpost just for milk. I'll swing by Vizon's homestead, I'm sure he'll share some milk with us."

Imira looked confused. "Vizon? I don't know him..."

Quarros laughed, confused himself, looking at his wife quizzically. "Of...of course you do. My best friend, Vizon. Just down the road from here?" Imira shook her head. "Hon, Vizon! My best friend since childhood, he settled here the same time we did. How...how could you not remember?"

Imira put down the bowl she was cleaning and came over to her husband, feeling his forehead for fever. "Are you feeling okay, honey? You aren't making any sense."

Quarros' brow furled, suddenly having trouble putting together a coherent thought. "Y...yeah. Sorry. I...must have been out in the sun too long. I'm going to lay down for a bit."

"Okay dear. Don't worry about the milk, I'll make do."

"Yeah, sure." Quarros went into the main room of the home, and lay down on the couch.

What's wrong with me? What is wrong with her? She should remember Vizon, she-

 **KZZZZZT**

Quarros' body jerked suddenly, and he was back outside working on the outer wall.

"Papa!"

Quarros put down his tools and scooped his daughter up into his arms. She laughed and climbed onto his head, running her fingers through his long white hair. He fell to his side and rolled through the grass with her, cradling her in his arms. They laughed together as the sunbeams broke through the upper canopy. It was a perfect day in a perfect life.

* * *

It was surprisingly easy for Akator and Foster to sneak their way into the Tartarus facility. Between the Intelligence Agent's training and the cyborg's new enhanced tech, they were able stealthily climb through a series of thermal exhaust ports, after timing their emissions carefully. They only ran into trouble once, when an unexpected thermal blast cut them off in a narrow corridor, but Akator was able to activate his blue energy shield in time to protect them from the blast, and it was not long before they were able to climb out of the thermal pipes and into a maintenance room far below the surface.

Akator plugged himself into a nearby data port and discerned the location of the wing where the others were being kept. Unbeknownst to him, however, this unauthorized tap had been detected, and a warning signal was already going off in the nearby security station.

The guard on duty stirred from him slumber at the sound, and used a single finger to push his cap up off of his face. He leaned forward and switched the security monitor to video mode, where he observed the two intruders making their way down the hall towards the prison cells.

"Well well well, guess it's time to get started." He grinned, revealing a row of pointy, sharpened teeth. "Still, not the worst job I ever held."

Alan flipped a coin absent-mindedly, finding little to do but await his next meal. Since being contained on this cell block with several of the others, the rest of the Czerka staff had yet to interact with them in any way. Still, that was fine by Alan. The last thing he needed was for that brute Pravitas to come back this way. It was not the first time Alan had been tortured, but he was damn sure he wanted it to be the last time.

"Huh? Whozzat?"

Bakurro was awake, and hearing things again. Alan rolled his eyes. That Cathar did little else but shout obscenities and threats at all hours of the night, much to the protest and annoyance of his companions.

"Whozzat out there? Come a lil' closer you karkers, and lemme get a bite outta ya!"

"Shut up, Bakurro! Go back to sleep!" Alan shouted through the viewport in his cell door, unwilling to humor the Cathar's blustering.

"You shut up, old man! Someone's coming this way and I wanna tear them a new hole to remember me by!"

"By the gods, child! Show some decorum!" Volaro was diligent in his admonishing of his nephew, even when it often felt he was speaking to empty air.

"Wait, shut up, all of you!" Oryon pressed his ear to the wall. "Someone is coming!"

"Heya fellas! Did you miss me!" Foster's unmistakable voice rang through the hallway, and all the prisoners breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"Atta boy, Agent!" Oryon pounded his cell wall in celebration. "I knew you had it in you."

Foster peeked his head through Oryon's cell viewport. "Well, I did have help."

"My god...is that...?" Elder had peered through his own viewport. "Akator, son. Is that you?"

Akator stepped into the hallway and greeted the Halcyons. "Hello everyone. Yes, it is me. I know you have questions, but-"

"They can wait! Get us out of here!" Alan was all business at this point, ready to make his escape.

Foster pulled futilely at the cell doors. "Akator, can you get these open?"

"I can try." Akator kneeled and extended a cable from his chestplate, plugging into a nearby data port. The connector whirled and spun as it tried to access the facility's mainframe.

"Foster, listen to me!" Oryon was already coming up with a plan for their escape. "Its going to take a while for him to to get these doors open, so let's be prepared. We have to extract several others before we can plan to get out of here. Asmodeus and Michael are still alive, according to Volaro, and four of the others were taken to another part of the facility. If we are going to get out, we need as much muscle as we can get. Now-"

He was interrupted by a loud THUD, and the cell doors swung open. Akator stood quickly, surprised.

"Nice work, Akator, that was quick!" Foster gave him a thumbs up.

"That...wasn't me..." Akator looked troubled.

Before the full implication could be impressed, blast doors closed at both ends of the hallway, sealing them in.

"Well, well, well. Look who went and made themselves troublesome." The voice was cold, icy, and malicious. The Halcyons, as one, turned to the end of the hallway, where Doctor Passus was waiting with his hands clasped behind his back. The air was sharp and electric, and everyone's hair stood on end as Passus began charging up.

"I had planned to keep you all contained indefinitely. But you are of no consequence to me." His tone was final, and deadly serious. "Return to your cells, immediately. Or I will have no further use in keeping you alive."

The Halcyons were broken, beaten, tortured. On their best day, they would stand a chance. But today was not their best day. If they fought a being as powerful as Passus in their weakened state, they would surely be killed. The knew this, and Passus knew it.

Which made it all the more surprising when not one returned to their cell, but rather made themselves ready to fight.

Passus was taken aback for a moment in the face of such bravery, or such stupidity. Still, he meant what he had said, and there was no reason to suffer these survivors to live if they became bothersome. "Have it your way." He growled, and began charging up his electric attack.

He stopped, suddenly. A new sound had entered the hallway. There was someone else, someone behind the Halcyons. And he was...whistling?

The low, soft melody came quietly at first, and increased in volume as the heavy footsteps approached. Bakurro and Volaro heard it first, and turned to see who approached. Volaro moaned and pressed his back against the wall, while Bakurro just stood looking on in confusion. As the man approached, the rest of the prisoners quickly recognized him, and parted to let him pass. He wore a tattered Czerka uniform, stitched together from various other uniforms he had collected over the last several weeks. The smell of blood was heavy upon him, and below his cap, behind those whistling lips, there was a cold, sharp grin.

"La da da daa, la da la da da daa, la da da daa la da la da da daa..."

He pulled a knife from his belt and scratched it along the wall, the sound discordant with his playful song.

"I'm afraid I can't let you kill these fellas, boss. As much as I'm enjoying the benefits package that comes with being a Czerka employee, I'm afraid I have fundamental differences of opinion with your company byline."

Haborym grinned, revealing his sharpened, pointy teeth. "There are simply not enough protein choices on the cafeteria menu!" He pointed his knife at Passus, who was thoroughly confused for the first time in his life. "How can you expect your employees to focus on their work in a productive manner if they aren't getting enough protein?! No, I'm sorry, sir. But consider this my resignation from Czerka, Inc."

Haborym flicked his wrist, and electric shock embraced his arm, lighting it up with dark Sith energy. "But hey, can I still get a letter of recommendation?"

Passus frowned, impatient with this silliness. "Fine. You die too."

Haborym brandished his knife, and steadied himself. "You first, boyo."


	28. Chapter 28

The time was now. For weeks the Halcyons had been beaten, thrown about, and stomped down. It was time to fight back, and in hindsight, it probably should not have surprised anyone who threw the first blow.

For all his buffoonery, it was easy to underestimate Haborym. His constant wisecracking and mindless babbling created a convincing front, playing the part of the fool. It wasn't until the smile faded and the knives came out that one finally learned just how badly they had been taken in.

Haborym himself was confident that this was a lesson that Doctor Passus was about to learn.

The hallway lit up in bright flashes of white and purple as the two sorcerers tore into each other. The others, freshly released from their cells, could did little more than cover their heads and try to dodge the odd errant blast heaved their way in the firefight. For the few that were brave enough to shield their eyes and try to witness the battle, they were rewarded with a sight they would never forget.

Passus was surrounded with a blue-black orb of energy, swirling with Dark Side lightning, his powers obviously being enhanced by something not unlike the Guardian energy. He had his hands outstretched and poured this energy-enhanced lightning from his hands as Haborym bounced from wall to wall, avoiding the attacks He had a makeshift knife in his hands, and he darted about, slashing at the shield, sending sparks flying, but for all his might he was unsuccessful in breaking the barrier.

After a few moments of this, the hallway was in tatters. The ceiling was falling to pieces, the walls were covered in scorch marks, and half a dozen small fires were lit. Haborym's grin had faded as his patience began to wane, and he struck at the shield with greater and greater ferocity. It became apparent before long that he would be unable to break the shield, and Passus lowered his hands, enjoying watching his opponent futilely exhaust himself. He laughed as Haborym abandoned all pretense and began hacking away with all his strength, his blade glancing off the shield with every strike.

The smoke from the fires slowly rose to the ceiling, and it was not long before the fire alarm was triggered. The klaxon alarm resonated through the wing, water sprinklers flicked on, and it took no more than a few seconds for everyone present to be drenched. Save, of course, for Doctor Passus, who remained dry under his impenetrable shield.

Oryon was the first to note that the blast doors keeping them contained in the doomed prison wing had lifted, and he quickly began shuffling the huddling prisoners to the opposite end of the hall from the two battling sorcerers. As the downpour continued, he shepherded the Halcyons towards the exit. This was typical and very telling of Oryon. During the most extreme of circumstance, he could always be counted on to do what was necessary. Which is why it came as no surprise when he tried to leave Haborym to the clutches of the nefarious Passus.

The Doctor was furious when he saw his prisoners escaping, and he quickly grew tired of toying with Haborym. In a moment, the shield dropped, and before the other could hack off an ear, Passus flicked his wrist. In response, great blue-black tendrils of energy emerged from the floor and gripped Haborym tightly by the wrists and ankles, forcing him to his knees. He struggled and pulled and growled and spit, but he could not break free from his captor.

Passus walked casually forward towards his writhing prisoner, and stooped to pick up the knife from where it had fallen. He examined it carefully, admiring its rugged craftwork, sloppy yet remarkably resourceful. He turned it over in his hands, tapped the tip with a finger, testing its sharpness. Despite being little more than worn stone and steel, it had lost little of its edge after being struck against the shield over and over.

Haborym spit and snarled at Passus. "Now thats just not fair, pisspot. Won't even give me a sporting chance?"

Passus did not look at his capture. "Shut up, beast. You've created a great inconvenience for me."

Haborym grinned. "That what I do best." He looked carefully at the energy tendrils holding him in place. "So. These are kinda familiar. Little bit of somethin' special to you, ain't there? If I didn't know better, I'd say you were one of us."

"Hardly, you idiot." Passus turned the knife over in his hands, contemplating his next move. "You people have the gall to call yourselves Halcyons, and you have no deference or sense as to what that really means."

"Hey, don't bother chiding me, boyo. I'm just here for the food." Haborym grinned and licked his lips. "Of course, it does feel a little unfair, being all defenseless, poor little ol' me."

* * *

Around the corner, the formerly imprisoned Halcyons were making their escape when Elder stopped them. "Oryon!"

Oryon was hustling them down the hallway. "C'mon, lets move!"

"Oryon, we cannot leave him."

Oryon was taken aback. "You're joking. Let them kill each other for all I care."

Elder shook his head. "He's a Halcyon, for better or worse."

"This is Haborym we are talking about here. That's more 'worse' than he's worth."

Elder crossed his arms. "He's one of us. No one gets left behind."

Oryon frowned and then threw his arms up in surrender. "You're going to regret this later, I promise."

* * *

"Well, aren't you going to ask the obvious question?" Passus twirled the knife in his fingers, toying with Haborym.

"Yeah, I've been meaning to get around to that. It's been bugging me for a while now."

Passus smiled, always grateful for the chance to show off his superior intellect. "Go ahead."

Haborym raised his head. "Do your people just not grow butts on purpose, or are you just the runt of the litter?"

Passus scowled, with no patience for this foolishness. He strode up to Haborym.

"I mean, like, is it a cultural thing or what?" He was cut off as Passus struck him on the side of the face. He giggled and raised his head again. "I mean, hey, no shame in it. Some people like the bony look. Me, I prefer a little more meaty rump, but to each their own."

"Shut up, you colossal idiot!" Passus struck him again, drawing a gash on his face. "By the gods, you disappoint me."

Haborym spit blood and grinned, his teeth stained red. "Well, dad always said I wouldn't amount to much."

Passus settled back. "And what of Asmodeus?"

Haborym regarded Passus quizzically, and then smiled again. "Oh, ho ho, you crafty bastard. You've got him, don't you?" Passus shrugged in false modesty. "You do! Tell me, how long did the big guy hold out before giving up the goods? An hour? Two?"

"He was...quite persistent, actually."

"Well you just got to know how to work the guy. Little tip? He's super ticklish."

"Ugh! The Nexus power, you fool! Aren't you curious? How you and your comrades are unable to use your Guardian power, but my Reaper abilities remain intact?" Passus was sweating now, frustrated with Haborym's incooperation.

Haborym paused for a moment, thinking it over. "Reaper? That's a bit on the nose, isn't it?" Passus threw his hands up in frustration, giving up. "I mean, if you are going to name yourself like that, why not go for the gold, you know? Call yourselves Superkillers! Or Megaterror! Deathbringer! No wait, that one's taken..."

His commentary was cut short as Passus drove the knife into his ear. He screamed as the doctor grabbed the side of his head and blasted the knife with lightning, sending the jolts of power straight into his brain. Green sludge began pouring out of his head, pooling around the knife as it sizzled and sparked, feeding the lighting deep into his skull. Passus grit his teeth, enjoying tormenting this annoying jester.

"Hey!"

Passus looked up just in time to get a look at the flash grenade that had been thrown at his face. He dropped Haborym and tried to cover his face, but it was too late. The grenade blew, and the world went white. Passus stumbled backwards, shaking his head, trying to regain his vision. He was still reeling when the blast of Force power hit him like a charging Bantha, sending him flying head over heels from the hallway.

Oryon and Elder quickly scooped Haborym up by the arms. The sorcerer was unconscious, and a greenish-brown sludge was oozing from his ear. They quickly carried him away, to catch up with the other fleeing prisoners before Passus could regain his composure.

A few moments later, Passus shook his head and awoke. The blast had sent him through the hallway and down a flight of stairs. Now he lay in the stairwell, dazed and bruised from the tumble, and quite furious. He pulled his comm and hissed into it. "Pravitas!"

* * *

Another carefree day on Taris.

The weather was lovely, the birds were singing, and Quarros was just sitting down to dinner with his wife and daughter. Imira always made his favorite dishes after a long day of work, and Quarros was certain he was in heaven. He joked and teased with his daughter Jormea, he flirted playfully with his wife, and afterwards he enjoyed a nice quiet drink near the fireplace.

He sat in his favorite chair, reading the news sheet that got delivered to their homestead every week from the nearby outpost. The ice clinked in his glass as he absentmindedly twirled his glass. Imira sat nearby, rocking Jormea to sleep. Every now and then, they would look up, smile back at each other, and go back to what they were doing. Yes, it was just another carefree day on Taris. Just like the day before, and the day before that.

"Says here there's been another Rakghoul attack, just a few quadrants away from here. Those bastards are getting braver."

"Horrid things. I'm so grateful you installed the automated turrets. Every couple of days I hear them fire off, and I sleep better knowing those wretched creatures can't get to us."

"Well, I wouldn't have moved you all out here if I didn't think I could keep you safe. Plus, with Vizon just next door, even when I'm off at the outpost I feel better knowing he is here."

Imira stopped rocking for a moment. "Vizon? Who are you talking about?"

Quarros stopped for a moment, his expression quizzical. "Vizon, hon. Next door? My best friend?"

Imira looked concerned. "Quarros...how much have you had to drink? We don't know anyone by that name."

Quarros looked down at his drink, confused. "What are you talking about? You know Vizon! You two are friends. In fact, you've been better friends than ever since we moved to Taris. He's always coming over to take care of you when I'm gone."

 **KZZZZZZZT!**

Another carefree day on Taris. Just like the day before, and the day before that. Quarros sat down to dinner with his wife, Imira, and his daughter, Jormea, and was certain he was in heaven.

* * *

The party at the Corral was only an hour away, and the Warden was getting his charges into position and training them on their jobs for the evening.

"Now listen up ladies." The grotesque Gamorrean waddled his way up the steps to the VIP section, pulling Lilia and Adara along behind him. Their wrists were bound by chains, looped together and tied to the Warden's belt. Whenever they trailed behind, he'd give the chain a sharp tug and watch as their skimpy slave outfits fluttered about as they stumbled forward. He'd let out a perverse chuckle and tug it again, and Adara would scowl.

"You two are gonna be working the VIP section tonight. You get the drinks, you flirt with the fellas, and you don't put up a fight if they pull you back behind the curtain. You do yer job right, you get a day off as payment. You decide to get aggressive, you get the shock collar. Understand?"

Lilia was spending as much time as she could in quiet meditation, trying to suppress her emotions and calmly think of a way out of this. Adara, however, was not trying so hard to suppress anything.

"You karking pig. Just let them try to touch me. I'll scratch their eyes out, and yours too!"

The Warden laughed, and took one of the big axes off his back. He quickly shoved the butt of the axe into Adara's face, and she went down hard.

"Need a kolto pack over here! Little cat got her face all bruised up!" The Warden laughed and went to check on the men.

Barrow and Arbokk had been dressed in silky little shorts and placed in cages high above a recessed pit. The room was cold, and they held their arms close, shivering.

"Alright fellas, you two got the fun jobs tonight! All you gotta do is dance, make the people happy. You see that floor beneath you?" Barrow looked down. It looked a bit like a dance floor, but he could see various electrodes sticking up at regular intervals between the flooring.

"Watch."

The Warden walked over to the bar and pulled a live, writhing creature from a water tank. "This here, this a Klatooine paddy frog. Delicacy. Kalna loves 'em." The frog creature squealed and squirmed in the Gamorrean's hands. "Disgusting things." He tossed the frog into the pit beneath the dancers. It hit with a splat, but quickly began hopping about, looking for a way out.

"The hell are you doing?" Arbokk hated to see an animal tormented, and the Warden just rubbed him the wrong way.

"Nothin happenin, right?" The Warden grinned, and clapped his hands together twice. At the sound, several lights lit up around the pit, and the paddy frog squealed as the electrodes sent a minor shock across the floor. After a second, the lights went down and the frog started hopping about again.

"Hey, cut that out!" Arbokk pressed against the cage.

The Warden grinned, and began clapping loudly. The lights came up, and the electric shock shot through the floor. The paddy frog screamed as it fried, and after a moment the sound died down and smoke began to rise from the poor creatures corpse.

"This baby was a special import, courtesy of the Hutts." Barrow and Arbokk looked on in horror as they full implication of the device hit them.

"You see, people got all sorts o' fetishes. Some folk just like a pretty girl. Others, they wanna see a bit more. Some folk get off on the idea of killin'. And here at the Corral, we don' judge. So people come on out, we give 'em live rodents and such to toss down in the pit. Then you fellas dance, make 'em happy. Make 'em applaud. The louder they applaud, the more shock gets sent through the floor. Get it?"

Barrow shook his head. He had seen some sick forms of entertainment in his time, but this was too much.

"Oh, and in case you fellas get the idea that you don' wanna dance, those cages of yours are fit with trap doors. Drop you right down on the pit. And trust me, those folks will clap even louder to watch a sentient being fry." The Warden laughed cruelly. "Alright everyone, places! Kalna will be here soon, and if he don' like what he sees, you get ta meet the Twins!"

* * *

"S'cuze us! Coming through!" Alan opened the door to the med unit, and several doctors and nurses looked up from their work, confused. "Yeah, see, if I had a gun I'd point it. But I don't got a gun. So, you know. Scram?"

The Halcyons poured into the med unit, with Elder and Oryon dragged Haborym along. At the sight of these bloodied and bruised prisoners invading the ward, the staff fled.

"Yeah, that's not gonna end well." Alan bit his lip. "They gonna know we're here before long. Get what you need, folks."

The crew scattered, gathering supplies. Several pressed kolto packs to bruised ribs. Oryon and Elder hoisted Haborym onto one of the operating tables.

"You sure you are okay with this?" Elder asked.

"I'm a doctor, Elder. You just better hope he's feeling cooperative." Oryon quickly got to work, gathering supplies from the nearby cart. He began applying kolto to Haborym's burns, he carefully sutured together his cuts, and carefully removed the knife from his ear. "That bastard fried his brain. If I hadn't personally found out the hard way how hard this idiot is to kill, I wouldn't be bothering." As he removed the knife, the greenish-brown sludge recoiled. "Hold on a sec..."

He grabbed a pair of forceps and carefully began pulling at the sludge running from the wound in the side of Haborym's head. It resisted, at first, and then gave way. He pulled back, and removed a large slug creature from hole in Haborym's head. It was massive, for something found in a person's skull, easily the size of a fist. It squirmed and revealed a horrific sucker-mouth, squealed, and then died.

"My god..." Elder covered his mouth in disgust.

"What is that horrible creature?" Volaro asked.

Oryon studied the creature carefully, turning it around in the forceps. "It's a Gaxxan brain slug. I've long suspected it. I've never seen one grow this large before, though."

"How did it get in the crazy man's head?" Bakurro asked.

"I do not know. But it looks like it absorbed the bulk of the lightning blast. Probably saved his miserable life." Oryon set the creature down in disgust, and began applying kolto to Haborym's wounds.

"So...he's had this in his head, this whole time?" Elder asked.

"Hey!" Oryon looked up sternly. "This ...thing, here. He's a monster. He's been coherent, and fully aware of his actions. Don't you dare go excusing his actions on the slug."

Elder held up his hands in surrender. "He's a monster, there's no question. But was it his fault? He certainly didn't choose to have that thing implanted in his brain."

"So...does that mean he'll, like, be a normal person now?" Rodeo came over to join the conversation.

"Doubtful. That thing has been living in his head for over a decade, at least. It's been living off his brain tissue. That's not going to grow back, and even if it did, the damage has been done. I don't foresee this changing his personality."

"Well, maybe he'll at least be grateful to have the thing out?" Alan shrugged. "In any case, whaddya want to do about him?" He gestured to the kolto tank behind him, where Mitvekzuk lay in suspended animation.

"Mit!" Rodeo ran over and tapped on the glass. "Don't worry buddy! We'll get you outta there!"

As Elder and Rodeo began draining the kolto tank, Oryon activated a nearby terminal. "Careful with him! He's still wounded." He tapped in a few commands, and reviewed a map of the Tartarus facility. "Okay, it looks like Michael is being held in a cell three floors down from here. Asmodeus...he's showing to be in surgery. Wait, that can't be right. It says he's been in there for over a week!" Oryon tapped in a few more commands as Mit was lowered out of the device. "Karking Czerka. They're torturing him."

"We have to get them out as quickly as possible!" Volaro joined Oryon at the terminal. "I'm not much of a combatant, but I'll offer whatever help I can to get Lord Asmodeus out of there."

"Well, lucky for you, Uncle," Bakurro pressed his fist into his palm. "Some of us are combatants."

Volaro smiled at his nephew, grateful for the first time of his thuggish nature.

"Fine." Oryon grabbed a datapad from the nearby desk and downloaded the terminal's information into it. "Michael first, then Asmodeus. Then we got to find a way out of here."

"You aren't going anywhere, heathen."

The new voice cut through the chatter, and all turned to face the Sith that had entered the room. He was tall, with a sleek and powerful armor. His helmet featured a dark visor, with high ridge down the center. He removed his helmet, and elicited a collective gasp from the others. His face was familiar, the long scar across his face, the grin, the eyes...

"Michael...oh no, not you..." Elder sunk. "Not you."

"The name is Darth Pravitas." He ignited his saber, an orange and black combination crystal. "You've stained this galaxy long enough. I'm more than happy to erase the name 'Halcyon' from the annals of history."

Before anyone could react, Darth Pravitas was blown backwards by a blast of Force Lighting, embedding him into the wall.

The crew jumped backwards in shock, and Haborym leaned forward, his hand outstretched.

"Hehe, you said 'anal'."


	29. Chapter 29

_**Elsewhere, Elsewhen...**_

The Acheron was falling to pieces. The battle had been going on for days, and the ship had not been at its full strength to begin with. After years of searching, they had finally entered a galaxy that had a direct gateway point to the Nexus. No more jumping the beams to traverse from dimension to dimension, this Gateway would take them directly to their final goal, and Asmodeus was willing to sacrifice everything to get there.

They had not come unchallenged. A band of Jedi, led by a particularly bothersome Guardian called Halcyon, had fought them every step of the way. Time after time, they came to blows as Asmodeus sought the secret location of the Gateway, and there had been plenty of casualties on both sides. But finally, after years and years, Asmodeus' prize was within his grasp.

The last battalion of the warlord had been sacrificed to get them up to the steps of the temple, and from there Asmodeus had joined the battle personally and cut through the final resistance. Between himself and his faithful apprentice Haborym, the last of the Jedi had been cut down. All that stood between them and Gateway was this dark-haired Guardian, who was drawing on the Gateway crystal to amplify his own powers.

"Step aside, boy. I've come too far to be denied my prize now." Asmodeus brandished his large sword, snarling. Haborym slunk behind him, giggling. "The Nexus will be mine. I've earned it."

"I will not allow it. As long as I draw breath, I will protect my charge." Michael Halcyon was still young, but resolute in his duty. "I'll not allow Keena's death to be in vain."

"hehehehe, she tasted like wine, that one. Lovely screams, lovely screams..." Haborym twisted his fingers together and laughed. The years had not been kind to him, and his devolution had reduced him to little more than a drooling psychopath. His lighthearted expression turned hostile, and he snarled at the Jedi. "She died with your name on her lips."

Michael raised his lightsaber, a brilliant blue blade. He tapped into his Guardian energies, and his body and saber were surrounded with a golden hue. "May I be so fortunate to pass the same way."

The Sith drew their weapons, and crossed the threshold of the temple.

The reaction was immediate. The Nexus was in danger, and the Universe was responding. The storm formed almost instantly, and the winds kicked up, tearing trees up by the root, and the roof of the temple blew to pieces as the wind and rain swirled above them. The Gateway crystal glowed with purple energy, and resonated with every step Asmodeus took towards it. As Michael fought the Sith off, they pressed in ever closer, and with every meter closer, the storm's strength intensified.

Michael despaired as the bodies of his compatriots were blown away, but did not allow himself to mourn. His final duty was at hand, and he was willing to die to keep this monster from defiling the Gateway he protected. High above, the Acheron could be seen in high atmosphere, barely held together. The storm raised high enough that it tore at the mighty ship, and it was beginning its final descent.

The Jedi fought with the ferocity of ten men, but in the end it was not enough. Battered and broken, his saber lost, Michael crawled up the steps of the altar towards the Gateway crystal, losing blood quickly. His vision was fading, and he knew he had little time left. The storm was very great indeed, and most of the temple had been demolished. The Acheron could be seen above, far too close for comfort. It was coming down, and if Asmodeus did not kill them all, then the crashing ship certainly would.

Haborym huddled in the corner, fearful of the storm that swirled around. It was an unearthly power, and it frightened him. Asmodeus, however, knew no fear. He relished in the blood of his defeated opponent as he watched the Jedi crawl and pull his broken body up to the Gateway. The warlord slowly made his way up the steps, stepping over the pools of Michael's blood.

Michael himself had summoned the strength to stand, and pressed himself against the Gateway crystal. Its purple energy enveloped him, a gentle caress, thanking him for his service. He cried, and laid his head against the stone, feeling its warmth throughout his body.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I tried."

"You failed."

Asmodeus lurched forward, and jabbed his sword through the Jedi's back and into the Gateway crystal. Michael Halcyon arched backwards, and screamed the names of his fallen compatriots with his final breath. "Keena! Leuqores! Rojali! Clay Munrab! Sarai!" Asmodeus wrenched the sword through his opponent's torso, and Michael's cries fell silent.

The Gateway Crystal surged with energy, which flowed through the sword and into Asmodeus. The storm raged, and Haborym cowered as mysteries of the galaxy flowed through his master. Asmodeus' eyes grew wide as the Gateway opened and his eyes beheld the Nexus.

Asmodeus wept. Michael died. The Acheron fell. And across all the known galaxies, the Halcyon line was determined too dangerous to be allowed to continue.

* * *

 _Tartarus..._

Pravitas was unconscious, his armor smoldering. The med bay was in shambles, and Haborym was pushing his way off the table. Oryon stood dumbfounded, uncertain of what he should do next. His enemy had just attacked the man he considered a brother...and he was right to do so.

"Well, that should keep him down for a bit." Haborym tapped the side of his head, knocking some of the slime from his ear. "I feel like I've had a headache for years. Thanks, doc! That's some good doctorin' you did." He grinned at Oryon, and then walked over to where Pravitas was embedded into the wall. "Now, let's finish this guy off."

"Hold it!" Rodeo stepped between Haborym and Pravitas. "He's down. If that is Michael, we owe it to him to get him out of here."

"Step aside, cowboy. I'm strong, but he's beat me before, and I need to put him down before he wakes up and goes on the offensive."

"Not a chance, psycho! You really think anyone here is going to side with you over him?"

"Rodeo..." Elder's voice came softly from the back of the room. "Step aside."

Rodeo was shocked. "Elder? Are you insane?"

Elder stepped forward, a very somber look on his face. "He's fallen, Rodeo. It has been a long time coming. We promised him, if he ever fell..."

Rodeo shook his head vehemently. "He's fallen before, and we never gave up on him then." His eyes narrowed at Elder suspiciously. "What is the matter with you, you've never given up on him before."

"Look at him, Rodeo. He's never fallen like this before. He's harbored darkness, but there was always light inside him. Can't you feel it? The creature at your feet is evil, through and through. And if he wakes up, even our combined strength will be no match for him." Elder regarded the fallen warrior sadly. "Step aside, both of you. It should be me."

Haborym shrugged. "Come on over, grandpa. We'll do it together. Save the ribs for me though."

Elder stepped forward, pushing Rodeo and Haborym both aside. "I'm sorry...I always thought it'd be you, you were so promising, so familiar..." He kneeled and put his hands on Pravitas' head. "I'm so sorry I pushed you into this."

The Halcyons bowed their heads in deference, preparing for the passing of one of their greatest.

"Well this isn't very encouraging..."

Elder's eyes opened, and confusion spread through his mind. It...can't be...

He turned sharply, as did everyone present, and watched as Michael Halcyon leaned against wall on the far side of the med bay. He was clutching his side, and bleeding profusely. His face was bruised and beaten, but it was unmistakably him.

Haborym was the first to break the shocked silence. "Oh Sithspit, there's two of you now?" He stomped his foot and shook his head in mock exasperation.

Elder stood, his eyes filling with tears. "Michael..."

Michael leaned forward and began stumbling towards the group. "You don't get to talk, old man. You were about to kill me."

Oryon rushed forward and embraced Michael suddenly. "You damn fool. You damn fool."

"Easy, Blue. I'm leaking a bit here."

Oryon pulled back Michael's hand and examined the wound. He had been injured badly, by a lightsaber from the looks of it. The muscle tissue had cauterized instantly, and there was a substantial portion of his waist missing. "Good god..."

"I'll be alright." Michael gently pushed Oryon aside and began hobbling forward. "Don't know if you fellas noticed, but we don't seem to be able to die here." He looked at Mitvekzuk, who was rested against the kolto tank with a hole in his chest. Awake, but very much in pain. "Well, I guess Mit here knows what I'm talking about. You hanging in there, Mit?"

The soldier nodded, wearing nothing but his undergarment and his ridiculous helmet that never left his face. "I'll make it through this. You?"

Michael shrugged, "We'll find out, I guess."

"Okay what the kark is happening here? Why are there two of you bastards?" Bakurro was trying to light a cigar with a surgical laser saw. Volaro slapped it out of his hands.

Michael limped up to Elder, who was still in shock. "You want to tell them, old man, or should I?"

"Michael..." Elder reached out to touch Michael, but he stepped backwards. The older of the two sunk, and sighed. "I thought it had happened. I thought it had been decided."

Michael frowned. "I've been telling you for years. Future ain't set in stone. Not even for us." He looked over to Haborym, noticing his presence for the first time since entering the room.

Haborym waved. "Hey buddy. How ya feelin?"

Michael looked curiously back at Oryon, who shrugged. "I don't know. For the moment he's with us, I guess."

Haborym feigned offense. "Why, I'm hurt! I'm a team player, all the way. Brand new me, turning over a new leaf. I'm a hero now!" He put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest.

"I don't buy that for a second." Rodeo grumbled.

Haborym pouted, and Oryon threw up his hands. "Oh for heaven's sake, are we telling them or not?"

"I'd sure like to know just what the hell you people have gotten me into." Alan muttered.

Michael looked back at Elder, who sighed again.

"Listen, we...don't have time to get into all of it here. But the short version is...well..." He looked down to Pravitas.

"Elder is actually me. Or, a version of me. Older me. A different Michael Halcyon." Michael blurted it out, fed up with Elder beating around the topic. "Remember the story? 'ripped from time and space?' Well he's an example of the time part of it. And apparently, our friend down here taking a nap is part of the same lineup."

Elder winced through this painfully dumbed-down explanation of events, and tried to clarify. "Well, hold on there, Michael. That's not entirely accurate..."

"No time!" Michael snapped back at him. He turned to the group. "You all on board with that idea? Because we don't have time to sit through the long version."

Foster stood and spoke for the first time since entering the room. "Well...we're in a pocket dimension. Apparently we can't die. There's air in space, Akator met space-gods who built him a new body, and Haborym is thinking he's one of the good guys." At this, Haborym interwove his fingers under his chin and curtsied. "You three all being a different version of the same person? Not the strangest thing to happen today."

"Good!" Michael smiled. "Because we're about to make it weirder. Rodeo, you and Oryon pick up Sleepy over here. We've got to neutralize him before he wakes up." Michael grabbed a crutch for his injured side and began hobbling towards the hallway. "Everyone follow me."

* * *

"YYYYYEEEEAAAAAHHHHH!"

The party was in full swing when Kalna made his grand entrance. The music was blaring, the lights were waving back and forth, and everyone was drinking and dancing. Everyone, that is, except the two main dancers in their cages high above the Shock Pit. Kalna took note of this, and frowned momentarily before resuming his normal demeanor. "Welcome to the Corral!"

The crowd cheered, and Kalna flexed his grotesque body, much to the delight of the patrons. "Everyone eat, drink! Enjoy yourselves! Debase yourselves! This is YOUR night!" The music pounded, and the party continued. Kalna shuffled his way around the club, eyeing Barrow and Arbokk, who sat in their cages unmoving.

The party did not seem to care, yet. The occasional drunk would grab a poor squirming rodent or amphibian from its glass bowl next to the pit and toss it in. It would hit the ground and bounce around and the crowd would boo for a moment before going back to their drinks. Meanwhile, Barrow and Arbokk sat stoically above the pit, refusing to entertain this mass of hedonists.

Kalna frowned again and shuffled to the bar, where the Warden was tossing back his drinks. "What the hell are you doing, bro?" The Warden tossed back a shot and laughed. "Those two slaves aren't dancing, man. I thought you said they'd play along?"

"Relax. I've got a plan."

"Oh, a plan? Oh, yeah, I feel so relaxed now. A plan. The pig's got a plan." The Warden rolled his eyes at this. Kalna grabbed him and whirled him around to face him. "This is my party, and if you don't get those two slaves dancing, it'll be your last. Do you feel me, bro?"

The Warden frowned and brushed Kalna's hands off of his vest. "Fine. I'll handle it." Kalna nodded and began shuffling away. "Fat slug..." The Gamorrean muttered under his breath.

* * *

"In here!" Michael led the group back to the cell where he had been contained. As the crew began filing in, with Rodeo and Oryon carrying Pravitas around their shoulders, many of them gasped at the sight of Passus' dark machine towering over them.

"What in the world is that device?" Akator mused aloud, fascinated by the machine.

"Strap Pravitas into it, hurry!" Michael began working the controls of the device.

"Jeez, Mike. This is where they kept you? How the heck did you get outta here?" Alan was examining the chains that had held Michael aloft for the past week.

Michael did not look up from his task. "Our day job is breaking people out of Imperial prisons, Alan. You think I can't work up an escape on my own?" He keyed a command and the machine roared to life. He began preparing the opposite chamber. "I escaped once before already, but that creep Passus put me down hard. I had to wait until he was...distracted. When I felt all of you in the nearby med bay, I figured you had at least slowed the bastard down."

"Michael..." Oryon finished strapping Pravitas into the machine and had come down to speak with him. "Are you sure you want to do this? It's not like you, killing an enemy."

"Well, there are some that would argue with you on that point." He grinned. "But I'm not killing anybody."

"Oh no. No no no, Michael!" Elder realized what Michael was planning and stepped forward. "No way, you cannot do this. You've finally purged yourself of this foul creature!"

Bakurro leaned into Alan. "You following any of this?"

Alan pulled out two cigarettes and handed one to Bakurro. "Not a word. Hey, creepy guy! Eager-to-please?" He called towards Haborym who perked up when he realized he was being addressed. "Little help here?"

Haborym's face lit up, and he stuck out two fingers. A tiny bolt of lightning shot from either finger and lit the two cigarettes.

"Thanks, pal. You ain't all bad." Bakurro grinned and puffed on the cigarette. He and Alan leaned against the wall while the others argued over the plan.

After a moment, Bakurro looked down at the cigarette, and then over to Alan, who was wearing as little clothing as he was. "Where exactly did you just pull these from?"

"He's the only chance we got, Elder. I've made up my mind." Michael began strapping himself into the machine opposite Pravitas. "We don't have much time before he wakes up."

Elder leaned in close to Michael. "Son, you are destined to become me. I know you do not believe that, but I do. How do you expect to do that if you blend your soul with his again?"

"Okay, first off? You're right. I don't believe that garbage. I ain't you, I ain't ever gonna be you. Deal with it." He strapped his legs in. "Secondly? This won't be like before. He was a vegetable while I carried his soul within me. I've programmed the machine to blend, rather than separate like before. Half me, half him, both bodies. I've got a lot more experience balancing light with dark than he does, and hopefully absorbing a little of me will get him with the program. Besides, we need his help if we are gonna get outta here." He fitted his arms into the sleeves of the chamber. "Ready when you are, big guy!"

Rodeo nodded. "If this doesn't work, boss..."

Michael nodded. "You have my permission to kill us both. If you can."

"Oh that's comforting." Oryon rolled his eyes.

Michael grinned. "Hit it!"

Rodeo threw the switch, and the room was once again consumed with darkness and the sound of screams.

* * *

In the back room of the Corral, Adara was taking a short break from the party. Several hours of serving drinks and being groped by drunken idiots had worn down her patience, and she needed a moment of silence before heading back out there.

"Adara? Are you okay?"

Adara scowled and set down the serving tray. "Okay, enough!"

Lilia stopped, startled by this sudden hostility. "What is it?"

The Cathar turned to face Lilia, who looked hurt. "Ever since the thing, ever since that creep got into our heads, you've been treating me like this poor little victim."

Lilia set down her own serving tray. "I just...wanted you to feel safe...?"

Adara's expression softened slightly. "Listen, you're a nice person. I get that. But I don't need you to save me, alright? That asshole got the better of me, yeah. But I'm not a victim, and neither are you."

Lilia frowned. "I feel helpless. I couldn't help you then, and I can't help us now."

"Yeah well, get over it." Lilia looked up, momentarily offended. "None of that is your fault, alright? We don't need no one looking after us. Ain't nobody gonna show us pity in the real universe, okay? You gotta toughen up, and stop trying to pretend like you're protecting people, get it?"

Lilia nodded, and Adara scowled again. This chick is going to be the death of me, I swear it.

She struggled to find a shred of empathy, and awkwardly put a hand on Lilia's bare shoulder. "Now, you gonna help me break us out of here or what?" The two girls smiled at each other, and found a moment of camaraderie.

It was, therefore, an extremely unfortunate time for the Warden to start throwing his weight around.

He burst in through the door, growling and stumbling drunkenly. "What are you two doin' back here? Get yer little asses out there and make some fellas happy..." He slurred his speech and wobbled. "I swear I'll slap shock collars on both of ya, you little whores."

Adara and Lilia exchanged a quick glance.

The Warden found himself capable of a brief moment of flight as he sailed backwards back into the Corral. His head was pounding, and he was fairly certain his groin had been attacked by a rabid akk dog. Nevertheless, he enjoyed his brief flight before coming crashing down onto a table, sending drinks flying through the crowd.

Adara and Lilia emerged from the back room, their slave outfits flowing around them. Adara had taken the Warden's shock stick, and Lilia was twirling the two giant axes around fondly. "Oh yeah, I'm keeping these!"

"grrrr...stupid slaves...I'll kick you so hard you ain't never gonna-ARRRGGGHHHH!" His threat was stopped short as Adara leaped over the crowd and shoved the business end of the shock stick into his mouth.

"Fry little piggy." She grinned.

Lilia waved the twin axes over her head and shouted. "All part of the show, people! Enjoy!"

The crowd roared in approval, and floor of the Shock Pit lit up briefly. Adara noticed this, and shoved the Warden backwards as hard as she could. He fell into the Shock Pit and landed hard on his back. He squealed in anger and quickly got to his feet, searching for a foothold by which he might climb out.

Arbokk and Barrow had other plans.

The beat pounded repeatedly, a heavy bass rhythm. The colorful lights flew back and forth across the walls, and the two men jumped to their feet. They caught each others eye, and nodded in agreement.

The crowd cheered, and a low voltage shock made the cruel Warden's knees tremble.

Barrow and Arbokk began to dance with the beat, their hips gyrating, their arms over their head, smiling at the crowd, flirting, winking. Each step they took caught the attention of another patron. Each swivel of their waist brought another cheer. With every thrust, another surge of applause.

"Yeah boys! Dance!" Adara shouted.

The two dancers twirled and twisted in their cages, pulling out the raunchiest and most crowd-pleasing moves they knew. They sweat, they danced, they entertained. They captured the attention of the entire cheering club, and hardly anyone noticed the smoke rising from the Shock Pit.


	30. Chapter 30

Doctor Passus stormed through the Tartarus facility, furious at this recent turn of events. For years he had managed the Czerka outpost, safe and secured in their remote location. It had been a profitable arrangement for all involved; Czerka provided the resources and manpower, and Passus used his considerable experience to enhance their special projects, which would then be used to further the ambitions of the corporation. But now, after this wondrous opportunity literally crash-landed at their front door, they were at risk of losing everything.

His anger was palpable. Passus was a planner, a player of the long game, and orchestrating the capture of the Halcyon exiles was the culmination of a series of carefully executed plans. Every preparation had been taken into consideration, from the strategic opening of the fault to the revival of the apprentice Pravitas, and now despite his best laid plans, everything was falling apart.

The doctor grit his teeth and stormed towards the nearest lifts. They would not see victory this day, not after all this time. He still had his backup plans, both for dealing with the exiles, and for ensuring his continued survival. It was time for the Tartarus facility to fulfill its final purpose, and Passus was determined that the end of the day would see the exiles removed from the equation.

* * *

"Arrrrrrrrggggghhhhhnhh!"

The transference machine roared and sparked as the two men inside felt their souls split and blended together. The apprentice of Darth Passus and the Grandmaster of the Order of Mercy both shared the name Michael Halcyon, but were opposite sides of the same coin. The knight who kept his name was submitting himself both to the torture of the transfer for a second time, but also to take on a portion of the life force of the man called Pravitas after having carried the foreign presence within him for years. It was his belief that if he took on some of Pravitas' evil, and gave a portion of himself in exchange, than the Sith might be willing to see the evil he had been a part of and assist them in their escape.

The Halcyons watched as horrible machine drained the life of the two men, blending them together. Elder and Oryon kept a close eye on Michael, who was submitting himself to a great amount of pain for the cause, while others such as Rodeo and Volaro kept an eye on Pravitas, fearing his retribution should this not go as planned...

An hour passed inside a moment, and the machine wound down and powered off. Immediately the two men slunk down inside their bonds, having been drained of everything they were and remade. Those of the crew who were not afraid to get too close stepped in to help the two doppelgangers down. Pravitas was nearly unconscious, and Michael was gasping for breath and looking intently at the other man, desperate to know if his plan had worked.

"Michael? Michael!" Oryon was examining his brother, checking the dilation of his pupils, looking for any sign of damage. "Are you with us, still? Say something!"

Michael's eyes finally met Oryon's. "Did it work? Is he okay?"

His words had barely met the air when an armored fist came smashing down past Oryon and dropped Michael to the floor. Pravitas had risen to his feet and leapt across the room to deliver that blow faster than anyone had time to react. "What have you done to me! You son of a sow, what have you done?" He roared in anger, and everyone instinctively stepped backwards.

"Yeah, I'd say he's alright." Rodeo quipped.

Michael fell on to his back and laughed, blood running from his broken nose. Pravitas seethed with anger above him, his rage growing at the sound of Michael's chortles. "Shut up! Shut up! What have you done to me?"

Michael covered his nose and wiped his face. "I can feel it, Pravitas. I can see it within you. As though a weight has been lifted from you, yes?" He stood and met the eyes of his doppelganger, eyes which once burned with fire but now were little more than embers. "It worked. I've got a piece of you, and now you've got a piece of me."

Elder looked on in wonderment at what was unfolding in front of him. He had always believed that when he looked at Michael, he was looking at a version of himself from a previous timeline. When Pravitas came onto the scene, an exact likeness of his younger self, it had thrown his entire worldview into disarray. Could it be that his past and these men's destinies were maybe not as intertwined as he once believed? And if so, what did this bode for the future?

Pravitas stopped and caught his breath for a moment while the rest of the clan looked on, unsure of what to do next. None of them were really armed, and while Pravitas' lightsaber had been taken away, there was no question that in their current state the Sith Lord would certainly be capable of putting up one hell of a fight if he wanted to.

The moment hung in the air as everyone waited to see what would happen next, and the tension finally broke when Pravitas sighed and slunk back into himself, his aggression subsided. "You've infected me, you idiot."

"Yeah, I kind of did. Sorry about that, but I needed you on our side for this. Once we get out of here, feel free to look for a way to reverse it. But for now, will you help us?"

Pravitas scowled at the Halcyons looking on, his inner rage demanding that he slaughter them all, and his newfound inner light holding him back. For better or worse, he was one of them now, and he hated them for it. But they were not wrong, the situation had changed. Whether they served the light or the dark, they all fought for the continued survival of their universe, and if Passus was allowed to continue here, then the fate of all the galaxy was in peril.

Pravitas looked down at his hands, hands that had borne the blood of millions. For years he had fought under Passus' command, serving his purposes under the hope that he might one day be granted a good death, a final peace and respite from the pain within him. Now that he carried a portion of Michael's soul within him, that pain was not quite so unbearable, and perhaps he was not in such a hurry to die after all...

The clan looked on expectantly, waiting for direction. When Pravitas raised his head, having come to his decision, he scowled at the lot of them. They were beaten, bruised, unclothed and unarmed. They would have to do something about that.

"Passus is more powerful than all of you combined. I've seen him burn worlds, kill thousands at a time. You don't stand a chance against him in a frontal assault."

Michael stepped forward, brushing aside Oryon who was trying to set his broken nose. "I've got a plan, actually. But we need to resupply, rescue those of us still captured, and get off this planet. Can you help us?"

Pravitas scowled again, the mere sight of his doppelganger enough to send him into fury. "You and me, when this is all over..."

Michael nodded. "Yeah, I figure I still got some sins to pay for. I'm okay with that. But for now? Are you with us?"

Pravitas looked around the room, and nodded. "The armory is not far from here. Its where Passus keeps his trophies from previous conquests. We can arm ourselves there."

"Great! So glad to hear it! Go team!" Haborym broke his silence and leapt up to the transference machine. He stepped into the device and strapped himself in. "But first, who wants to ride this thing with me? Eh? No takers? Come on, it'll be fun! Who wouldn't want a little of me in them?"

* * *

The party in the corral was a rousing success. Never before at the Tartarus facility had so many been so entertained. The death of the Warden was such an extravagant sight that all present would be talking about it for years to come. And so it was that when Barrow and Arbokk climbed down from the suspended cages they had been confined to, they were met with the cheers of a roaring crowd. Arbokk was embarrassed and a bit uncomfortable with this kind of attention, but Barrow grinned and waved and ate up the adoration of their new fans. Even Lilia and Adara could not help but smile and clap as the two dancers received their accolades from the gathered masses.

There was one however, who was particularly pleased with the outcome.

"Woah! Bros! That was incredible!"

Kalna the Hutt, the only member of his species that appeared to be as much muscle as fat, was pushing his way through the crowd towards the four new slaves that had caused the ruckus. Lilia immediately raised the two axes she stole off the Warden before his rhythmically-themed demise, but the Hutt was not interested in the two girls. He spread his arms wide and grabbed Arbokk and Barrow in a great big hug, lifting them off the ground.

"Thank you, boys! Never let it be said that Kalna the Hutt doesn't throw the finest parties in the galaxy, eh?" He chortled and set the two men down, not noticing as they both shuddered in revulsion at the noxious-smelling slime they now found all over their bodies. The smell of spice was heavy on the large hutt, and his eyes indicated that he was fairly heavily incapacitated by it. "Honestly, you two have made this the best event I could have hoped for, and that bastard pig is a small price to pay. How can I properly reward you fellas?" The Hutt grinned.

Barrow and Arbokk looked at one another, unsure if the obvious question was one that should be asked. Adara saved them the trouble and stepped forward. "Hey, we're leaving. And these boys would really appreciate it if you didn't send anyone after us."

"Huh? Oh yeah, sure! One night only sort of thing, you got it!" The Hutt had already lost interest, feeling the need for another dose of his favorite spice. "Get on outta here! And remember! Kalna the Hutt ain't nobody to mess with!"

"Yeah, you bet, big guy!" Adara was already pushing Lilia and the two boys towards the door. "We'll tell everyone!"

Kalna waved drunkenly at the four Halcyons as they went out the door, and then turned and headed back to the spice bar. "Good kids. Now, where are my dancers?"

* * *

"Woah! Now we're talkin!" Bakurro was ecstatic. Before them stood Passus' great trophy room and armory, where he stored his spoils from his past conquests. The sheer amount of armor and weapons in the room would have supplied an army of soldiers, not to mention Sith and Jedi, for years. While the rest stood in awe, he jumped right in like a child on Life Day.

"Holy kark, this is incredible!" Michael wandered the room, trying to take in the sheer magnitude of the treasures stored here. "Armor and weapons from all corners of the galaxy."

"Multiple galaxies, pinhead. We conquered countless worlds in our time." Pravitas still could not help but sneer at Michael at every opportunity, but they would have no chance of surviving this assault without being properly armed, and so he had led them here to allow them to gear back up.

"Alright everyone, grab what you need, we can't stay here long. We still have to go after Barrow and the others before grabbing Asmodeus." Oryon, as usual, was all business. He immediately began gathering supplies.

"Perhaps we should split up, in that regard." Volaro was studying a series of holocrons on the wall, fascinated by the contents within. "We certainly are not lacking for manpower, and we could move faster by tackling both objectives at once."

"No, we aren't splitting up again. We do this as a team." Michael found a particularly old lightsaber of a long-dead Jedi Master and flicked it on, the blue blade instantly familiar. "I'm not chancing anyone being left behind."

"Speaking of being left behind..." Akator was standing in front of a display where Quarros was being stored in hibernation. "...did anyone even think of looking for this guy?"

"Quarros!" Alan ran over to the display and began activating the console. "Don't worry buddy, I'll have you out of there in a jiffy." He punched in several commands on the keypad, but the system was unresponsive. "Dammit, he's locked in. We got to find a way to break him out of there."

Foster was eyeing down the sight of a rifle he found. "Just wake him up. We've seen his firepower first-hand, that thing's not going to hold him if he wants out."

"I can't wake him up, idiot, you think I'm just gonna shake him and we'll snap out of it?" Alan was twisting his mustache thoughtfully.

"I can help with that." Akator stepped forward and extended a finger towards the console. The casing on his finger pulled back and revealed a interface plug, which he inserted into the console. "I'll work on Quarros, the rest of you get geared up. The odds are looking like we will end up shooting our way out of this place."

"Yeah, I wouldn't have it any other way." Bakurro immediately went searching for the biggest gun he could find.

* * *

It was a beautiful day on Taris, the same as the day before, and the day before that. All was well, all were happy, and a single pixel of it was real. Akator found himself standing outside a modest homestead. It was surrounded by a small sentry wall with various automated turrets, and over the wall he could see a green-skinned Mirialan tending to his garden. He immediately recognized this avatar of Quarros from their time together before, when they had spoken in this same digital state on the ship before it was attacked.

"Daddy!" A little girl, bearing the same shade of green skin and white hair came running around the corner and leapt onto her father's back, and suddenly Akator came to the realization that breaking Quarros loose from this simulation might be harder than he expected.

"Hello? Quarros?" He called over the fense.

The Mirialan man turned and smiled upon seeing his friend. "Akator! How good to see you!" He cheerfully walked down to the gate and let in Akator, whose stark-white armor presented a sharp contrast to this world of green he had stepped into. "How are you, my friend? You surely must stay for dinner!"

"No, I- what? No. Quarros, I've come to get you out of here! This isn't real, its a simulation." Immediately the sky started to turn darker, and Akator could hear a faint buzzing sound.

"Jormea, darling, it's looking like it might rain. Run inside and tell your mother that we'll be having a guest for dinner."

"Yes daddy!" The little girl ran inside.

Quarros turned back to face Akator, who recoiled in shock at the sudden change in his appearance. The friendly smile was gone, and Quarros looked to Akator with the practiced indifference of a droid. "We don't have much time, Akator. If the simulation thinks we are getting too close, it will reset us, and then you'd risk being stuck in here."

Akator did not fully understand, but recognized the urgency in Quarros' voice and nodded. "So you know? Good. Let's move." He started to pull away, but Quarros stopped him.

"Akator, I'm not going with you."

Akator was stunned. "What? But if you know this is not real..."

"That's not the point." Quarros looked back up at his homestead on the hill, and his expression turned to one of regret. "I used to live here, a long time ago. I had a happy life. And then one day, there was an attack. Rakghouls. One of the automated turrets had failed and they were swarming. I manned the turret manually while my wife and child escaped on a speeder with my best friend, Vizon, who also happened to be my wife's lover." He bowed his head. "They had been trying to keep it a secret from me, but I knew my wife, and I knew my friend, and I kept silent about it." Quarros looked down at his hands. "The turret had been sabotaged, and exploded when it overheated, destroying my body and setting me down the path to become that emotionless instrument of violence that Czerka so desperately wanted." He turned back to Akator. "But here, there is no Vizon. There are no rakghouls. My wife and daughter are here, with me. I cannot let that go again."

Akator looked at Quarros sympathetically and put a hand on his shoulder. "Quarros, that's terrible, and I understand. But we need you out there. We are escaping, and we could really use your help."

Quarros looked towards the sky. "I can hear them, you know. Foster and Alan are arguing over how long your conversation with me should go on before they abandon you as well. I can hear Mitvekzuk wheeze as Oryon and Elder fit him into a rejuvenating armor shell that will keep him breathing. I can hear Bakurro and Volaro arguing over how much weaponry Bakurro can carry on his back. And I hear new voices, as well, at least two that I do not recognize."

Akator rubbed his neck. "Yeah, its kind of a long story, and you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Quarros looked back down at Akator. "I can hear the outside world, Akator. And I reject it. This place here, it may not be real, but I can be happy here. And after all this time, I feel like I've earned that. I will not be returning with you."

Akator tried to protest, but Quarros raised a hand, cutting him off. "I'm sorry, friend. I wish you the best of luck." He closed his fist, and Akator was forcefully ejected from his world.

* * *

*gasp*

Akator took a deep breath as he returned to his body in the armory, where the Halcyons were gearing up for war. He removed his finger from the interface slot and its shell immediately covered it back up. Foster and Alan looked to Akator, and then expectantly to Quarros. "Well?" Foster asked.

Akator frowned and turned away. "He's not coming."

"Heads up, we've got incoming!" Bakurro was on lookout at the Armory door, pointing a comically large multi-barreled pistol down the hallway. "Looks like four of them! Two males and two...woah!" He lowered his gun and his jaw dropped as he watched Lilia and Adara run towards him in their skimpy little slave outfits. He did not even notice as Barrow and Arbokk rushed past him and into the armory. Lilia gave the ogling Cathar a dirty look as she slipped past him, and Adara stopped in front of the hunter, her hands on her hips and frowning at Bakurro as he slowly and unashamedly looked her up and down.

"You finished, pal?"

Bakurro grinned and nodded. "Nice."

Adara punched him in the stomach and entered the armory.

It took less than a minute for Lilia and Adara both to notice Haborym in the corner, trying on a series of various crowns and hats, admiring himself in the mirror. Adara asked of Lilia, "Is that who I think it is?"

Michael approached the two girls and hugged them both. "I'm so glad you two are okay. How did you escape?"

Adara had no patience for storytelling. "Long story. Is that who I think it is?" She pointed to Haborym, who was now eyeing a slave outfit not unlike the ones they were both wearing. He draped it over his chest, admiring himself in the mirror.

"Yeah...uh...I don't really get it myself. But he's been helping, so ... try not to kill each other? Please?"

Adara huffed and walked away in search of new apparel. "Just keep him out of my way."

Michael shrugged at Lilia and went back to assembling his own gear. Lilia looked around, doing a mental headcount of everyone present. She could see Michael, and what appeared to be a duplicate of Michael (not gonna ask) discussing battle plans. Elder and Oryon were helping Mit fit into a particularly bulky suit of armor, fitted with a series of tubes that seemed to be pumping kolto directly into the chestpiece. Haborym was in the corner, now wearing the skimpy slave outfit and checking out his own rear end in the mirror. Arbokk and Alan were laughing with each other as Arbokk recounted the story of their escape. Barrow was admiring a very old set of armor and fawning over the jetpack that came with it. Akator was looking at Quarros, who appeared to be set in a display case on the wall. Volaro and Bakurro were examining a battle plan that Rodeo had sketched onto a piece of paper, and Asmodeus was nowhere to be seen. Foster, however, was rubbing his neck shyly and approaching her.

Lilia rolled her eyes as she watched Foster desperately attempt to maintain eye contact with her. "Hey, uh...I like those axes..."

"Thanks. I'm keeping them."

Foster handed her a pack. "I saw this earlier and thought you'd like it. You don't have to use it, but...well...anyways. I'm glad you are safe." Foster's face was flush as he stammered and hustled away.

Lilia looked into the pack he had handed her and smiled.

 _Black leather, very imposing. That kid knows me better than I thought._

* * *

Asmodeus' chest heaved slowly as he lay on the operating table. He was conscious, but too weak to move. For days his worst memories had been forced to the surface and fed into the facility databanks, transmitted to some unknown source. Asmodeus could feel a certain familiarity, but could not place it in his mind in this weakened state.

"Time to move, demon!" Passus stormed into the operating room, pushing aside the medical droid monitoring his vital signs. Asmodeus gasped for air and struggled to turn to face him. Passus saved him the trouble by leaning over and speaking directly to Asmodeus' face.

"Your little band of misfits cost me my apprentice. I can feel his corruption, they've controlled him somehow. But I still have you, my flabby little warlord. And there is still one last purpose you can serve before I end your miserable life."

Passus kicked the release on the operating table, and it fired into gurney mode, the repulsors making it hover at waist height. He grabbed the head of the table and began to pull Asmodeus towards the door. "If nothing else, you'll make fine bait to trap your friends. I'll be damned if I let them off this ship alive!"

Before Asmodeus lost consciousness, one final thought echoed through his mind.

 _Did he say 'ship'?_


	31. Chapter 31

Passus struggled to pull Asmodeus' gurney through the narrow hallways. They were heading deep into the Tartarus facility, to the lower levels that few were allowed to access. Here the clean and sterile sheen of the upper levels slowly faded away in favor of worn and rundown walls and hallways. There was much different feel down here, as though the Tartarus facility lower levels were much older and storied than the upper levels would imply.

Passus hastily pulled his barely-awake captive through the narrow hallways, taking no care to be gentle in spite of Asmodeus' delicate condition. The good doctor was furious, so many years of planning, coming so close to a flawless execution only to stumble at the finish line. Pravitas was key to his plans, and now the exiles had infected him, turning him, giving him a false partial identity at war with his own ambitions. Now the exiles, with Pravitas' help, had barricaded themselves inside his own private armory, no doubt plundering hundreds of years worth of trophies and arming themselves to further muck everything up.

No matter, this would force him into but one of many contingency plans. Having lived as long as he had, he learned long ago to prepare for multiple missteps. And should all else fail, there was still his secret weapon, his pocket skifter, down in the deepest level...

Still, the exiles needed to be delayed. Their escape had accelerated his plans by several months, but there was no reason to abandon the plan altogether. He just needed time to prepare the device.

"Alert, this is Doctor Passus." He spoke into his comlink, and his voice echoed throughout the facility. Every guard, every nurse, every staff member stopped what they were doing and looked upwards. "We have a Level Seven alert. Over a dozen highly dangerous prisoners are now loose in Tartarus. They have barricaded themselves in the armory and are no doubt arming themselves with deadly force." Throughout the facility, cries of concern and panic could be heard. "I hereby authorize the use of the Hunters to intercept and pacify these criminals. All Czerka employees are encouraged to return to their quarters or offices and remain there until the all-clear is sounded."

* * *

The Hunters awoke.

The writhing masses of tentacles and teeth had been dormant ever since the Halcyons first crashed into this pocket dimension. After picking the ship clean and driving them towards the small planetoid called Tartarus, they returned to their nests orbiting the planetoid and awaited the next call. Now the signal had been given, and the sleeping masses stirred.

The screeches emitted from sky were terrifying, as though the gods were screaming. Black swarms of death and hunger gathered in the skies and flew downward towards the ground at remarkable speed. The artificial ground shook momentarily, and then parted as a large round hatch opened, revealing a long tunnel allowing access to the underground facility. The black swarm screeched again and poured into the hatch, filling the halls of the Czerka compound, searching for their prey.

"We don't have much time. They are coming." Pravitas was helping Bakurro and Alan bolster the blast doors of the armory. He knew the terror coming for them, and had no intention of dying today. The rest of the team had armed themselves with whatever weaponry and armor they could scavenge together, but they were in no shape to stand up against the kind of siege that was bearing down on them, and Pravitas did not know how they would escape this.

Rodeo, Akator and Oryon were gathering whatever tech they could pull together from the trophies taken from the conquests of various worlds and timelines, looking for anything they might be able to use to plan their escape. Volaro and the Jedi were meditating, reflecting on the battle before them. Haborym was practically giddy, hopping up and down, just waiting for the opportunity to unleash hell. Foster and Mitvekzuk were bunkered down under cover not far from the blast doors, the first line of defense protecting the others. Barrow and Arbokk had taken up positions on the flank, and both were solemnly contemplating the seriousness of what lay before them.

"What of Asmodeus?" Volaro directed his question at Pravitas, who was the only one among them who had been privy to Passus' schemes. "I will not leave my Master behind."

Pravitas turned to the old Cathar, an expression of disgust on his face. "Why? You know who he is, the things he's done. The full culmination of his life is a series of death and manipulation. The universe will be a better place the day he dies."

Volaro shifted, slowly getting to his feet. "I know of Asmodeus' sins. And I know of his efforts to atone for them. But more than, I know my Lord Asmodeus, and who he is today." His eyes narrowed at Pravitas. "The man who bought my freedom from slavery, the man who endeavours every day to help others, the man who is prepared to give his life for those under his command, that is my Master, and I serve the man he is today. And I am not leaving without him."

Pravitas looked around, reading the various expressions on the faces of those around him. While the topic of the Sith Lord was obviously a sore subject, most were nodding in agreement.

He shrugged. "Last I saw of him, he was being tortured by Passus. He was...extracting memories from them and feeding them into this...this strange device." Pravitas reflected briefly on Passus' behavior when he had taken Pravitas down into the bowels of the facility and shown him that swirling golden vortex... "He...acted like this thing was key to his plan. If I had to guess, he's probably got Asmodeus down there."

Michael nodded. "Then that's our next stop. Once we figure a way out of here."

"Heads up, here they come!" Bakurro shouted the warning as the Hunter swarm began filling the hallway, snarling and screeching. "Closing the blast doors!" He keyed in a command on the keypad, and the doors slammed shut just as the swarm broke upon it like a wave on the beach. The Halcyons girded themselves for war, and the Hunter swarm began to tear at the blast doors.

It would not take long for them to breach it.

* * *

"Quarros, honey, dinnertime!"

Quarros stopped working on the outer wall and wiped his brow. He had accepted that this was nothing more than a simulation, but he was happy here. Perhaps it was not his real wife, nor his real daughter, but these two were here, and they loved him, and after years of war he was okay with pretending.

Outside his body, he was vaguely aware of the battle going on outside. He could hear the shouts, the blaster fire, as though he was listening to them from under water. He did his best to shut that out, that was not his life anymore. And his short time with the Halcyons was enough to convince him of their survivability.

 _They will be fine. My place is here._

"Daddy!" The artificial Jormea leapt into Quarros' arms, and he held her tightly.

* * *

"Pathetic."

Passus continued to escort Asmodeus, still incapacitated on his gurney, through the bowels of the lower facility. There was a familiar air here, wet and warm, something he had known and forgotten, a dream that slipped away in the first few moments of wakefulness. Asmodeus was barely aware of his surroundings as it were, but he felt a kinship here, a sense almost like home.

"I'm sure at least some of your compatriots will survive the Hunter attack, and when they do they are sure to come after you." Passus pressed his hand against a bio-reader, and the door in front of them opened onto a large, long laboratory. "So I will leave you here, a magnificent bait. Its only fitting, after all." From the corner of his eye, Asmodeus could see a faint golden glow from the far end of the lab. The light was in motion, flashing back and forth, like water reflected off a swirling pool of water.

Again, that familiar feeling.

Asmodeus gasped for breath, trying to speak.

"Ah ah, not quite yet, imbecile. Your lungs are still deflated. Though this close to the device, I'd imagine your healing will begin to accelerate, judging by how long she has managed to survive down here."

 _She?_ Asmodeus turned his head, trying to get a better look at where Passus was leading him.

The swirling golden vortex was unmistakable, though recognising it nearly sent the Sith Lord into shock.

 _It can't be! It's impossible!_

Deep in the lower pit where the energy swirled, a young woman was strapped to the wall, her arms outstretched. Her eyes were gone, long since devoured in the violent swirling maw of the Gateway. All around her, other victims of the device remained chained to the wall, but there were no other survivors. Over the years, this young woman, no longer the infant she was when Asmodeus last saw her, had drained the lifeforce of those around her, keeping her sustained these many long years in isolation.

"I'll let you two get re-acquainted. I'm sure you have much to discuss." Passus smiled and left the gurney next to the Gateway deck, off to finish preparing his trap.

Asmodeus turned towards the nearest deck, where mounds of clutter had been collecting dust, and viewed the partially obstructed designation painted on the wall. Years of neglect had worn away the insignia, but the labeling beneath it was still intact. Asmodeus summoned his strength, and weakly lifted his arm, brushing aside the clutter and revealing the name inscribed on the laboratory wall.

He moaned, and his head dropped backwards as his strength left him. On the wall, the insignia was now clearly visible.

 _Acheron_

* * *

Back in the armory, the battle raged on. It had taken only moments for the hunters to breach the blast doors, and now they threatened to pour in and overwhelm the Halcyons inside. So far, they were being held back by the barrage of blaster fire and Force attacks heaved at them. Whenever one managed to scrape through, one of the Jedi was ready with a quick swipe of a vibrosword or axe to strike them down.

The breach was being held for now, but the defenses had been opened, and it was only a matter of time.

Haborym was laughing, casting wave after wave of lightning and corrupted energy, gleeful to be showing off. He was arguably the most powerful being in the room, save for perhaps Elder, who was keeping up with Haborym's attacks blow for blow.

However, the laughter died when an ambitious Hunter caught an opening and lashed out at Haborym's face.

The sorcerer went down hard, and the Hunter gripped him in his tentacles and began lashing at him with razor sharp talons. Pravitas leapt forward to cut the beast down, but was quickly overtaken himself.

Little by little, the swarm breached the room, slipping past the defenses and taking the battle to melee range.

It would not be long now.

* * *

Quarros sat with his family at the dinner table, playfully teasing his daughter while Imira looked on fondly. Outside, the sounds of the battle grew louder, and Quarros could not help but frown. The sky was growing dark, and there was the faint sound of thunder on the horizon.

"Daddy, whats wrong?"

He turned back to his little girl and smiled. "Nothing dear. I think we might have some weather blowing in."

He finished his dinner and excused himself, heading downstairs to compose himself. The sounds outside were getting worse, he could hear various cries of pain as the Halcyon clan fought against their attackers.

It will be over soon. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, his former self, with green skin and white hair. He reached down and splashed water on his face. They'll be captured...or...

"Killed?"

The new voice startled Quarros, and he raised his head quickly and met his reflection in the mirror, not the Mirialan he was, but the cold face of the war droid stared back at him.

He recoiled and spun away, and found himself face to face with an old friend.

"Vizon?"

Vizon smiled, and handed a towel to his friend. "Hello, old friend."

The battle was not going well. The Hunters were out for blood, and they were finding it. Even armed as they were, the Halcyons lacked the numbers to hold out against the swarm, and they were slowly pushing their way deeper into the armory. They hacked away at the Hunters coming after them, but were going down one by one.

"How can you be here?"

Vizon shrugged. "I'm not. But then, really, neither are you, eh?"

Quarros furrowed his brow, and wiped his face with the towel. "So, what is this then? The guy who stole my wife is gonna lecture me now?"

Vizon's smile faded. "I can't speak for that, Quarros. I'm made of your memories, so I don't know anything that you don't know. So when I say that I know that your place is not here..." His eyes narrowed at Quarros, "...that means that you know it too."

Quarros scowled at the image of his former friend. "Go to hell, Vizon. You know nothing." He stomped out of the bathroom and found himself facing Vizon again in the hallway.

"I know enough. I know that's not Imira out there. I know that dinner you ate was nothing more than code."

"Shut up." Quarros growled as he headed upstairs. Vizon was waiting for him there, as well.

"And I know that this..." He gestured to the little girl eating her dinner happily at the table, "...is not Jormea."

Quarros looked at the avatars resembling his wife and child, reflecting sadly upon them. Outside, thunder rolled, and he could hear Lilia scream.

"And I know that that, out there? That's real. Those people are real. And they are dying."

Quarros looked down, ashamed of himself, but refused to relent. "I've given up so much, Vizon. I can't go back to that. I can't go back to being...that thing. Its so cold, and I can't feel anything. No emotion, no remorse, nothing." He looked back up at Imira and Jormea. "No. I can be happy here. I cannot go back."

Vizon shrugged. "Hey, I can't make you. But consider this." His image started to fade. "Your brain designed this simulation to be perfect. Hence, no me. So why am I here now?" He faded away, his final words echoing on the air. "I think you know what you have to do."

Lightning flashed, and on the rise above the homestead, the rakghouls gathered, their red eyes burning in the night.

Quarros looked down at his hands, Mirialan hands. Hands that worked to create, not destroy. Hands that held his daughter, hands that held his wife.

Hands that protected those he loved.

Hot tears welled up in Quarros' eyes. He choked back an angry sob and turned his head.

 _Dammit..._

Lightning flashed over the homestead, followed instantly by the loud crack of thunder and a piercing shriek of pain from beyond the simulation.

Quarros looked outside, and watched as the horde of rakghouls attacked their complex. The automated turrets were holding them back, easily. His second chance had not been wasted. He had hand-tuned every turret, reinforced every wall. The rakghouls could lay siege for decades and never penetrate this defense. Now, after all these years, they were safe.

And Quarros knew that it wasn't enough.

He turned back to Imira and Jormea, looking at him with concern. "Quarros, are you alright?"

Quarros nodded sadly, and the hot tears broke down his face. He went to her, held her tightly, kissed her one last time. He pressed his forehead against hers, and then embraced his daughter tightly.

"Daddy?"

Quarros said not a word, and marched out into the rain.

"Quarros! Get back!"

Before they could try and stop him, thereby putting themselves in danger, Quarros slipped through the gate, locking it behind him.

 _They are safe._

He turned, and faced the rakghoul horde.

Fear and anger froze his heart, the despair of losing his family a second time weighed down his legs, and still he marched into the heart of the wretched beasts. Imira screamed in distraught horror as the rakghouls bore down on Quarros, ripping his flesh. Her screams synched with those beyond, and Quarros marched forward.

One ghoul tore at his shin and foot, revealing cold black metal underneath, and Quarros marched forward.

Another latched onto his arm, feasting on blood and flesh, cleaning the bone dry, leaving nothing but the skeletal limb of a war droid, and Quarros marched forward.

Hot tears burned his face, he grit his teeth as the ghouls tore at his chest, revealing the flashing lights of his ion core beneath, and still Quarros marched forward.

"Daddy!" Jormea screamed.

Quarros roared in anger as the ghouls consumed his face, and he felt no more.

* * *

 **Target Acquired**

"RAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRR!" The war droid Quarros let out a mighty roar of anger as his chassis powered up. He snapped out of his bonds effortlessly and his assault cannon raised from his back and pointed over his shoulder. Nano-missile launchers emerged from his shoulders, his fists opened into cannon barrels, and he let out one last painfully sentient scream.

The room lit up with fire. Blaster bolts and superheated ion flooded the armory, and all through the facility, the sounds of war could be heard. Quarros let loose with the full fury of his arsenal, fighting back the Hunters, driving them off of his fallen allies, and ending them.

It took less than a minute. When the smoke cleared, the Hunters were no more, and the Halcyons, despite their injuries, were alive.

And in the middle of it all stood Quarros Halcyon, the man who gave his life twice for those he loved.


	32. Chapter 32

Over and over again, the memories played.

 _"Rejoice, my brethren! Today, we ascend!"_

The burning of worlds, the sacrifice of the prophets, the battles won and the people slaughtered.

 _"My lord. I beg a moment of your time and consideration."_

 _"You've attacked my High Priest."_

She watched as the monster killed. She watched his technique, his brutality, his horrors.

 _"A lesser species, my lord. His injury was worth the attention it bought."_

She watched as his enemies were crushed before him.

 _"The child's life is insignificant when compared to what we are about to achieve."_

She watched as the Hero battled the monster for the life of the princess.

 _"I'm sorry, my Lord. But I cannot let that happen."_

And she watched as the Hero fell, and the monster devoured him.

 _"You will continue to serve me. In this world, and the next."_

She watched the monster triumph, and learned all she could from it.

* * *

Rotating barrels let off steam as they began to slow. The mechanical drone of the artillery wound down and faded, and slowly the Halcyon clan rose to their feet. The corpses of the hunters lay all around them, shredded by laser fire. The mess was considerable, and most could do little more than look up in awe and fear at their rescuer.

Quarros retracted his weaponry and began cycling his ion core, recharging his weaponry. He spoke not a word, but stood stoic amongst the war-torn armory. His scanners detected only minor injury to the others, and he silently determined that no further instruction would be required for the organics to patch themselves back together.

A voice came from behind him. "You know, I was just about to do that."

"Shut up, clown." Mit still did not trust Haborym, and his constant jests were grating on his nerves. "That was some pretty serious hardware. I didn't realize we were packing that kind of heat with us."

"Yeah, neither did I, actually." Michael approached Quarros carefully, dipping his head, trying to get a better looking at the towering figure. "Quarros? Buddy? You still with us?"

 **Query from superior officer. Respond.**

"Yes, commander. I remain in service to the Order of Mercy." His processed voice was just inhuman enough to be unnerving.

Michael nodded, a worried expression on his face. "Alright then. Stay close, I don't think we are done with the shooting yet."

Quarros snapped a smart salute, and returned to charging his weaponry.

Michael turned and examined the group. Despite their misgivings with each other at the beginning of the mission, the hardships they had endured since then had brought them together. They helped each other to their feet, spoke with each other, wrapped their arms around each other like old friends. It mattered not their faction, their origin, their position, the last few weeks had made brothers and sisters of them all. And despite the pain and trouble they had fought through these past several weeks, Michael could not help but be a little proud of their clan.

His eyes lingered on Lilia, who was laughing and hugging Foster. His gaze darkened slightly, and he turned away to find Elder behind him. He scowled at the older man and tried to walk past him. The older Jedi placed his hand on Michael's chest.

"You cannot keep avoiding her forever, Michael."

Michael brushed Elder's hand away. "We've been over this. Its not her. That's not the Lilia I knew."

Elder turned to follow Michael as he walked away. "Michael, son, there's something I have not had a chance to tell you about yet."

Michael turned to face him. "Okay, first? Stop calling me 'son.' It's creepy. It's weird enough having to listen as I give a lecture to myself, this father-son charade you like to play out just gives me the creeps." He ignored the slight tremble in Elder's eye. "And what haven't you told me?"

Elder straightened up, and was back to business. "Back at the camp, just before Pravitas and his goons captured us. I was meditating with Lilia, training her on some defensive techniques against probing minds. I invited her to try and breach my own defenses."

Michael motioned with his hand to hurry along, get to the point.

"Michael, for a brief moment, she caught me off guard and broke into my mind. For a brief moment, our minds were linked."

Michael's expression turned to one of concern. "Yes, that is something I probably would have liked to have known about before now. How much does she know?"

Elder shook his head. "I wiped all memory of the encounter from her mind, she remembers none of it. But while I was in there, I noticed some...oddities. It was like walking along in the snow after the path has already been trod upon. Like I was stepping in places that had been stepped in before."

Michael scratched his chin thoughtfully. "You think someone had altered her memories before?"

Elder shook his head. "I do not know. And I'd be hesitant to search for a reason to look again. I just...thought you should know. Just because she does not remember you, does not mean that your sister is lost forever."

Michael looked over Elder's shoulder at Lilia, who was fashioning a harness for the two axes she had taken from the Corral. He regarded her with a quiet sadness, and then turned back to Elder.

"Okay. Just, help us get out of here, alright? We'll worry about this later." He turned and began gathering supplies.

Elder nodded, and set out to heal whatever wounds he could before the Halcyon Clan made their final push to rescue Asmodeus and escape this accursed place.

Asmodeus could do little more than watch as the swirling yellow energy of the Gateway he had constructed decades before hummed with unknowable power. His proximity to the Gate was accelerating his healing slightly, but his repeated and orchestrated deaths in the facility above had left a terrible toll on his body, and more time was needed before he would be strong enough to rise from the gurney he lay upon. If he could get closer, perhaps enter the gateway, he might be able to accelerate the process further. As it was, however, he could barely turn his head. His throat was slashed, his vocal cords ruined, and even the power that staved off death in this pocket dimension was having trouble repairing the damage done to him.

Therefore, he could do little more than stare at the being trapped below. She was older now, she'd have to be, wouldn't she? She was but an infant at their last meeting. Lifetimes ago, it was Asmodeus himself, Warrior-God of his tribe who constructed the Gateway and strapped the Prophets inside it to fuel his mad crusade across the cosmos. The child had been so small then, and when Asmodeus reflected upon his sins, it was always her that haunted his the most.

Of course, the ruin of his general Haborym had been a close follower. It had been Haborym himself who tried to stop Asmodeus from sacrificing the child for his ambitions. In the end, however, he had failed, and Asmodeus had taken his greatest general and turned him into a drooling, cannibalistic madman.

Asmodeus tried to let out a heavy sigh, but little more than a quiet creaking emitted from his lips. He had felt responsible for Haborym ever since the exile. His brief glimpse into the Nexus had shown him the greater wonders of the galaxy, and he had sought to reform himself and atone for his many crimes. To that end, he had kept Haborym with him, done his best to rehabilitate him. When he felt he was ready, he had even given the reigns of his power base, the Phantom Legion, to rule over in Asmodeus' absence.

He had learned later how wrong he was. Haborym had never rehabilitated. Once out from under his master's shadow, he had shown his true cruelty once again, cruelty no doubt learned from Asmodeus himself. He had run the Legion into the ground, eventually turning on and attacking his own members. Thankfully, Asmodeus had returned from his self-imposed exile and reached out to Oryon to help spring a trap to capture the insane warlord. While Oryon had not quite forgiven Asmodeus for faking his death and leaving his Legion, he was more than willing to shut down Haborym once and for all.

Asmodeus had failed Haborym, he knew that now. And he looked down on the young woman trapped in the Gateway, he knew he had failed her as well.

Pravitas led the Halcyon clan down into the lower levels of the manufactured planetoid, down into the bowels of Tartarus where Passus had taken him once before. They were armed, they were armored, and they were ready to fight for their lives once again. It had been nearly a full month since they had crashed through the Rift, and they were ready to be home again.

As Pravitas led them further down, Oryon noticed a strange familiarity coming over the walls. Having spent more time on Imperial cruisers than the others, he was more accustomed to their layout, their styles, their trends. It was not long before he concluded that whatever ruins they were walking through, it had once been a Harrower class Imperial dreadnaught. An older model, for sure, but there was no mistaking the design. But what would such a large and powerful ship be doing seated at the core of this planetoid? He filed the question away for later review, and pressed on.

Oryon was not the only one who felt a sense of deja vu in the old ship. Haborym was unusually quiet, his constant quipping had been silenced and dismissed by an overwhelming sense of both dread and homecoming. He glanced around the halls nervously, as if expecting the ghosts of the former crew to come to life and continue their unfinished business aboard the craft. He could almost see them, shredded remains of Imperial uniforms stitched together with tribal patches and charms.

He shook his head and continued on, his mind unusually focused. In fact, he was thinking more clearly than he had in years. Perhaps decades, for that matter.

"Hold on a sec..." Rodeo's voice snapped through the haze, attracting the attention of the group. "I recognize this, this is a ship!"

Oryon made a mental note that Rodeo had been the second to become aware of this fact.

"So what?" Bakurro was quick with his trademark charm.

Akator was the next to come around. "Ah, I see now. You think that if we can get the ship powered up, it may be possible to fly it out of this facility and back through the Rift to our home dimension."

Rodeo's sly smile faded to an unamused expression. "Yeah. Yeah thats the plan. Kind of wanted to explain that one myself, but there ya go." He turned to Oryon. "Oryon, you know these Imperial ships. Say we went full on skeleton crew, do we have enough manpower to fly this thing?"

Oryon took a moment to appear as though he were doing mental calculations. In reality, he had arrived at the answer on his own several minutes before. "It could be done."

Rodeo laughed and clapped his hands together. "Alright, now we've got a plan cooking. Barrow, you and Akator get up to the bridge. Clear out whatever junk you can and find a way to pilot this thing. Me and the others will get down in the essential systems, try to get you some engine power."

Barrow nodded and took his pal Akator up in a great big hug. "Quality time! Together at last!" He lifted Akator off the ground, despite the smaller man's protests, and trotted off down a darkened hallway in search of a functional lift.

It did not take long for the rest of the crew to make their way down into the engineering section of the ship. When they arrived however, they could not have been more surprised by what they found. Instead of the typical hyperdrive generator, or housing for power cells to feed the ion engines, the entire engineering deck had been retrofitted into a type of lab. They entered cautiously, looking around at the mess and decay of at least a decade of undisturbed negligence.

It was Adara who first took note of the golden glow emitting from the far side of the lab, and she carefully made her way towards it.

"Adara? Girl, what have you found over there?" Volaro followed after her, heading towards the glow as well.

Rodeo was directing the rest of the crew to search for anything that might lead them to the real power source of the ship, or at the very least something that might point them to where the real engineering deck make have been relocated to. He was just about to go searching on a new deck when he heard Volaro's cry of horror from the far end of the lab. He quickly vaulted over the table he was standing near and sprinted to the far side of the lab, followed closely by the others.

It did not take but a moment to find what had elicited the pained cry from the older Cathar. Before them lay a small pit filled with a swirling golden energy. Rodeo took note that the energy was not randomly animated, but rather swirled from a central generation point to the outer wall, which appeared to take in the energy. This must be the power source for the entire ship! Huzzah, Volaro! He was just about to congratulate Volaro on his find when he noticed that he was the only one looking down at the pit, and not across it.

Rodeo's eyes met Asmodeus', and his heart leapt up into his throat. Asmodeus was laying against a gurney, turned straight up so that he was almost standing on his feet. His chest had been flayed open in a series of surgical cuts, as though he had endured a living autopsy. His throat had been cut, and blood continually poured down his neck and into his open chest. His eyes screamed at them, but the only sound he could produce was a pained groan.

"My god..." Rodeo muttered, taken aback by the grisly scene.

A cold and spine-chilling laugh echoed through the lab. Up from the swirling vortex rose Doctor Passus, his body surrounded with a blue-black light, a corrupt doppelganger of the Guardian power. The Halcyons recoiled back in fear as the deranged Doctor levitated above them. "A god, you say?" He gestured back to the defeated Asmodeus. "He called himself a god once. I call him pathetic. I've tuned the Gateway device to block out all Guardian abilities, while leaving my own power intact. Do you realize what that means, you miserable little creatures?" He grinned evilly, allowing his calm demeanor to slip away and reveal the true horror beneath. "I AM YOUR GOD NOW!"

An explosive blast of bluish energy spouted from his outstretched hand and sent the Halcyons running for cover. Sparks and fires immediately erupted, and Passus laughed. Asmodeus looked on in horror as Passus, now fueled by the swirling power of the Gateway launched wave after wave of attack against his compatriots. The Doctor roared in laughter and rage as he floated above them, protected by his shield of energy surrounding him.

The Halcyons tried to fight back, but not even Quarros' considerable firepower could breach the shield, and all found themselves huddled behind various clutter and cover, hiding from the overpowered Passus. Michael and Elder did their best to hold their own, working together to erect their own Force-powered shield over them, but the shield was weakening under Passus unrelenting attack, and they both knew it would not last long.

It was Rodeo who had the instinct to sneak around to the console perched on the lip of the Gateway, and began keying in commands furiously while the others held the Doctor's attention. He met Asmodeus' gaze, who managed a weak, affirmative nod. As Passus laughed and blasted his energy forth again, Rodeo waved to Michael and Elder, who acknowledged Rodeo's unspoken plan.

"Now!" He shouted.

Elder and Michael dropped their shield, tapped into the Force, and pulled with all their might. Not on Passus, but rather on Asmodeus, behind him. The gurney tipped and fell forward, and as it fell, the great Sith raised his arms over his head and grabbed onto Passus' ankles, dragging him down into the swirling vortex. Both men fell into the Gateway, and landed hard on the bottom.

The blasting attack momentarily ceased, and the Halcyons gathered around the Gateway pit to see what would happen next.

Passus shook his head and stumbled to his feet, caught off guard by the unexpected attack. Asmodeus lay on the floor before him, the gurney having toppled off to the side. Behind them, the young woman strapped to the wall stirred.

"Haha! You fools. Your plan to stop me is to thrust me into the source of my power? I will crush you all." He glared up at Rodeo, working the controls to the console. "Perhaps you seek to alter the device, return your Guardian abilities? Be my guest. Even at your full strength, you all combined stand no chance against a god! I will destroy you all, and reign for a thousand years in your exiled dimension!"

Rodeo tapped in a few more commands. "I'm not disabling the power dampener, genius." He locked eyes with Passus and grinned. "I'm turning it up to 11."

Passus' grin faded as he realized what was happened. Slowly, the blue and black energy that surrounded him began to dissipate. He looked down at his hands as he found his connection to both the Gateway and to the Force cut off. His power was gone, and he was now little more than a frail old man.

"Enjoy your reign, lordship."

Passus' expression of rage turned to one of terror as a shadow fell over him. He turned and faced Asmodeus, completely healed by the swirling golden glow of the vortex. He frowned at Passus and cracked his knuckles.

Rodeo leaned against the console and smiled. "Something tells me the big guy doesn't need the Force or any silly eldritch power right now."

Passus cowered, and Asmodeus' battlecry echoed through the ship, the cry of the Warrior God once again filling the halls of the legendary battleship Acheron.


	33. Chapter 33

It had been a very eventful week for the princess. Her father had come to visit her many times, and she could feel his excitement over something. He had told her that they would be receiving guests, and that she should be excited as well. Her father had often come to visit her in the evenings, and their nightly stories were the highlight of her day. He would sit near her and read to her stories of other princesses who were trapped just like she was. In the end of the stories, there was always a handsome prince who came to slay the monsters and rescue the princess, and they would live happily ever after. Her father would always stop the story at this point, and explain to her that stories were full of happy endings, but in the real world the princess often had to save herself.

He told her that one day soon, he would be able to weaken her prison, and when he did, she would have to seize that moment and free herself, and then they both could escape. And so she waited patiently, under her father's gentle care. He would visit her often, he would brush her hair, he would read to her, and speak of the day soon when she would rescue them both.

And then, just this week, he had brought a visitor. Her first visitor, in fact. In her two decades of life, this was the first time she had heard a voice other than her father's. She imagined that the voice might belong to a handsome prince who might rescue her after all, but it was not meant to be. She hoped that the day of her escape might come soon. Her nightmares were getting worse as of late. So vivid, so violent. The monsters haunted her as she slept, and one in particular was always there. Big and red, she believed him to be evil personified, a monster to be slain. Like in the stories.

And now...now there were more visitors. Many many voices, strangers. And they did not sound like they belonged to handsome princes. They sounded like they came to hurt her father. They sounded like monsters.

And she was ready.

* * *

The Gateway pulsed with energy. It fed on the latent energy of the two men within it, sapping their power and converting it for its host. And with the power present in the room, it would be able to feed for a very long time.

Asmodeus roared with anger. After weeks of torture, he was free and facing his captor. Passus cowered before him, summoning as much power as he could in this weakened state. The Halcyons looked on as Asmodeus raised his fists over his head and swung them down with his considerable might, a blow that would shatter the bones of the strongest of beasts, and would surely annihilate the old man below.

The blow struck with tremendous force against a hastily constructed shield that covered the old doctor as he lay on the floor. His connection to the Force was severely weakened, and it was a great struggle to summon even the most rudimentary of defenses. He scurried over to the wall of the Gateway, at the feet of the one living prisoner trapped within it. He cowered near her feet and attempted to erect another shield.

Asmodeus' fists slammed down again as he cried out in anger, and again they rebounded of the blue shield, send sparks of lightning flying around them. The shield was weak, and would not hold out much longer. The Halcyons watched on as Asmodeus beat against the old man's shield again and again, and none of them moved to stop him from his attempt to beat Passus to death with his bare hands.

Passus clutched at the young woman's feet and whispered to her. "It is time, princess. Save us, Calliope."

Asmodeus let out a mighty roar and struck the shield again with all his might, shattering it and striking Passus in the chest, which let out a sickly crack!

Calliope's head snapped up, the empty sockets where her eyes once were glowed with a familiar golden energy, and Asmodeus immediately stumbled backwards in surprise. The ghostly vision before him sent him into shock, and he was frozen where he stood. Passus moaned in pain below him, and the lab began to quake as the Gateway overflowed with power.

The exiled Halcyons struggled to maintain their footing, and Rodeo worked furiously to decipher the control panel, trying to bleed off some of the energy that the Gateway had absorbed from Asmodeus and Passus. "It's no good!" He shouted. "It's all going somewhere, but I don't know where!"

"Asmodeus! You have to get out of there!" Michael shouted down into the Gateway pit as the room began to shake harder. Tiles fell from the ceiling, papers long undisturbed flew around them, and the dull humming that could be heard before was now increasing loudly. The Jedi jumped down into the pit and began to pull on Asmodeus, whose vision was locked on the young girl. He did not budge, even when several others jumped down to try and help move him.

"What about the girl?" Oryon shouted at Michael.

Michael looked back at the prisoner on the wall while pushing on Asmodeus' heavy shoulder. "Get her down!"

Oryon ran over to the far side of the pit, stepping over the badly injured Passus. He reached out to undo the straps on her arms...

In a split second, the quaking stopped. The energy reserves that the Gateway had been stocking were drained into Calliope, and for the first time in her life, she could see.

Lacking eyes, the sensation was curious and new, but she adjusted very quickly. She saw her father, broken on the floor before her. She saw the great red monster of her nightmares in front of her, and she saw the monster's helpers all around. One of them, a blue man with red eyes, was reaching out to her.

The energy spread through her body, and she snapped her bonds. Her left arm shot out to the blue man, and she dug her thumb into his right eye. He cried out in pain as his red eye burst, and blood trailed down his face. It took less than a second for her to leech him, drawing his memories, experience, skills and training into herself.

Time seemed to slow around her, and she quickly sized up the situation.

 _Father injured, must seek medical attention._

 _Too many hostiles, outright combat would be suicidal._

 _I've injured one of their own. They were not expecting that._

 _Tactical retreat while they recover._

Time popped back into speed, and she dropped to the ground. She kicked herself off the wall and struck Oryon across the face, sending blood everywhere. She scooped her father up in her strong arms and leapt over the edge of the pit. The other monsters had no time to react as she sped past them towards the door, and in a flash she was gone.

"What the hell was that?!" Bakurro drew his gun to fire at the girl, but even carrying Passus, she was too fast for him. She was out the door before his weapon had left its holster. "The kark? The kark is happening right now?!"

"Let her go! Oryon's been injured! Elder, get him out of here! Rodeo, shut this thing down now!" Michael shouted.

Rodeo smashed the controls desperately, and the loud roar faded. The yellow energy from the Gateway dissipated and faded into the red and black tubing lining the walls of the pit. The lights in the lab came on, turned on for the first time in decades. They flickered and sparked, but they were functional.

Asmodeus snapped out of his shocked reverie, and he slumped downward. "It was her...after all this time, she lives..." he mumbled quietly. Michael and Arbokk were working together to try and lift him upwards out of the pit. Elder gently lifted Oryon telekinetically and set him down on the floor, immediately beginning a healing ritual on his eye.

Asmodeus was placed against the wall while he recovered, and after checking his vitals, Michael left him to the care of Volaro, who wrapped his former master in a blanket. As Michael stood, he asked out loud, "Does anyone have any idea what just happened here?"

"Yeah, I do." A voice rang from the back of the room, and Michael sighed.

"Not now, Haborym. I don't have time for your nonsense."

"No, really." Haborym's head popped up from behind an overturned table. "I know what happened here." He spoke with his mouth full, he was absent-mindedly chewing on something best undefined. He stood and walked towards the rest of the group. "That girl you saw? She's been in there a long time. I've seen her before."

Michael looked at Haborym incredulously.

Haborym shrugged. "Fine, then. But I tried to tell you." He shrugged and went back to scavenging for something to eat.

Michael walked over to Elder to see how badly Oryon was injured. The Jedi had placed him into a coma to save him from the worst of the pain, and he was holding his hands over the Chiss' eye. "Is he going to be alright?" Michael asked.

Elder looked up at his younger self. "I believe so. Although I was unable to recover the eye..."

Michael groaned. "Brilliant. He'll love that. Keep him stable. I've got a feeling we won't be here much longer." He moved to Rodeo, who was studying the readout panels on the Gateway device. "How are we doing?"

Rodeo smiled, fascinated by the tech he was working with. "This is really amazing stuff, boss. This device here? It feeds off the same energy that gives Guardians their abilities. The same stuff that we see between the dimensions when we seal the rifts, this thing uses that energy to power this entire ship!"

"Can you get it working?"

Rodeo tipped his hat back and scratched his head. "Well, theoretically, maybe. Given the power source, this thing would just suck out that power and feed it into the ship. Engines, life support, even weaponry. Even just one power source could keep this whole bucket going for ...I don't know. A couple of weeks?"

Michael furrowed his brow. "When you say 'power source', you aren't talking about batteries, are you?"

"Well, in a sense I guess I am." Rodeo gestured to the dried up corpses strapped morbidly to the wall in the same fashion that the young girl had been previously. They had been sapped of their energy over the decades to preserve the life of the prisoner, and now were little more than withered remains of the people they once were. "Aside from Rifts, there's only two other places where that kind of energy is stored. One is the Nexus itself, and the other..." He smiled humorlessly, a sad expression on his face.

Michael's eyes widened as he understood what Rodeo was saying. "Wait a second, are you telling me these people were Halcyons?"

"That's just my guess, but...yeah. I think so."

"Even the girl?"

"Well, yeah. She'd have to be. Toss any regular person in there and they wouldn't feel a thing."

Michael scratched his neck. "I won't sacrifice any of our people to power this ship. We'll have to find another way out."

"Well, given the power we'd need for takeoff, flying out of this thing, and getting back through the Rift...we wouldn't have to 'sacrifice' anyone, per se. I mean, it wouldn't be pleasant, I'm guessing, but it wouldn't kill that person."

The Jedi raised an eyebrow. "How do you know?"

"Know? I don't know, Michael. I'm guessing here. This is all new to me."

Both men were still arguing over the potential danger of using one of their own to power the ship when Asmodeus stepped over them, his large shadow overtaking them. "It will work."

Michael scowled at the large Sith. "Yeah? And you think you are an expert?"

"Give it a rest, you insolent child." He snapped back. To Rodeo he said "Your plan will work, and I will fuel the chamber. With power restored, we'll be able to escape this wretched place and return to our home galaxy before it can drain me completely."

Rodeo eyed Asmodeus suspiciously. "You're pretty eager to throw yourself up on the fire there, Asmo. Something on your mind you'd like to share?"

Asmodeus shook his head, and clutched the blanket around himself. "This entire mess was a result of my sins long ago. It is only fitting that I be the one to set them right again." He looked down for a moment, and then met Rodeo's eyes with a fierceness once again familiar to those who knew him. "Begin preparing your plan, Rodeo. We are leaving this place today."

Rodeo turned to Michael, looking for approval. The Jedi shrugged. "Hey, if he wants to be the one to burn for once, I say we let him." He nodded to Rodeo. "Start setting this thing up, we've got a lot to do."

Michael walked back to the crowd of Halcyons, who were whispering and speculating as to what was happening. "Alright, listen up. We are getting out of here." Cheers. "But we've got a lot to do and everyone needs to pitch in. Anyone with technical expertise needs to be down here with Rodeo or up with Barrow and Akator getting this ship ready for launch. Everyone else is on evacuation detail. There's a lot of innocent civilians upstairs and we aren't leaving them to die. Get everyone to the lower decks and onto the ship, because you bet your ass we are burning this place to hell on our way out. Now move!"

It did not take long to evacuate the facility. The mere mention of returning home from their long-standing isolation was more than enough to convince the Czerka employees to gather their belongings and flee to the ship hidden far below the surface. Even Kalna agreed to abandon his nightclub, stating that it was best to close after your best night, as nothing would ever top it. He was particularly disappointed that he wouldn't be given time to gather his equipment from the gym, but his dismay faded as he lit the match that incinerated his club.

The Halcyons escorted the men and women of the Tartarus facility down to the Acheron, sending people wherever they would fit. Soon all the bunks, cargo holds, and storage bays were full of Czerka employees, packed to the brim. Elbow to elbow they gathered together, elated at the prospect of going home, and waiting for takeoff.

So tightly were they packed together, that no one seemed to pay any mind to the man and woman on draped in hoods in the medical bay. The younger girl applied a kolto patch to the older man, and no one noticed as they disappeared into the crowd.

"Are we ready?"

Over the comms, Barrow's voice rang throughout the ship. "Ladies and Gentlemen this is your captain speaking. Please use all necessary restraints as we do expect this flight to get a little bumpy, and please feel free to never kidnap or torture any complete strangers ever again. Thank you, and have a nice flight!"

Foster rolled his eyes and went back to helping strap Asmodeus into the Gateway. The large Sith had clothed himself and was on his knees in the middle of the pit, preparing himself for what was to come. He had overheard Rodeo's estimate that the process would be unpleasant, but this was his ship, his technology, and he knew how much of an understatement that was. Still, this was his burden to bear, and he was more than willing, as always, to give all of himself for what he believed had to be done.

"Hey, we're just about ready." Michael patted Asmodeus on the back. "Try not to kark it up and kill us all, alright?"

Asmodeus sneered, unamused. "Leave me be, you irritating fool."

"Yeah, you bet." Michael climbed out of the pit and gave the go-ahead signal to Rodeo, who was manning the controls. He hit the comms and gave his word to proceed. "Barrow? We're all set down here. Fire it up."

"Powering up engines now." Came the reply.

Asmodeus stood with his arms outstretched, various wires and plugs wrapped around him. The ion engines kicked to life, and the humming of the Gateway started up as Asmodeus began to be drained of his power. He grit his teeth as pain shot through him in waves, but he was determined not to show it.

"Looking all good up here, guys. I'm going to take us as close to the surface as we can get and then blast us an exit. Here we go."

The ship shuddered as it left the ground for the first time since crashing through the Nexus portal twenty years ago. The Gateway fed on Asmodeus, feeding power to the ship as it sailed through the air. The final flight of the Acheron had begun.

"Coming up on the surface. Powering up weapons!"

Asmodeus groaned as more energy was sapped from him, and Michael eyed him suspiciously, suddenly wondering exactly how bad of a toll the process was going to take on him.

Turbolasers made short work of the Tartarus facility, and flaming wreckage poured down over the skeletal frame of the Acheron as the mighty ship flew upwards and out into open sky. Asmodeus fell to his knees as the engines kicked up to break atmosphere, and it took but a moment for the ship to break orbit. He spasmed as two proton torpedoes fired from the Acheron's bays, sending the Czerka planetoid into pieces in all directions. Cheers erupted from all over the ship as the Tartarus outpost ceased to be, and the engines fired to full speed towards the still-open Rift.

Asmodeus drooled blood, the Acheron was demanding his all, and he was prepared to give it. Michael watched him carefully as his skin began to fade in color. It was obviously that the big idiot had overestimated himself, and he began to doubt whether he was going to survive this ordeal.

"Oh gods damn it." He leapt down into the pit and positioned himself under Asmodeus' shoulder, lifting him upwards.

"Get out of here, you meddling fool." Asmodeus' voice was hoarse and weak.

"See, even your insults are sounding weak, old man." He shifted his weight to support Asmodeus and planted his feet. "Shut up and lets get through this." He wrapped one of the coils around himself, and was instantly hit with excruciating pain as the Gateway began sucking the life out of him. He nearly collapsed as the intensity of the pain shocked him.

"Holy hell, you couldn't have warned me?" He asked, weakly.

"You're the one that was so eager to join me down here."

"Yeah, it's heart-warming, isn't it?"

"Please stop talking."

* * *

The Acheron sailed towards the Rift, and passed through it with barely a shudder. The passing weeks since it opened had stabilized the violent growth that had nearly destroyed their vessel passing through the first time, but it had grown in size by triplicate. Once through, a hatch near the bridge opened, and out stepped Elder in a makeshift zero-gravity rebreather. With the power dampeners of the Gateway disabled, the full power of the Halcyon Guardians flowed through him, and he glowed with a golden energy. Far below, Michael and Asmodeus gave of their life force to power the ship, and Elder drew upon that energy to expand his own abilities, feeling the warm embrace of the Nexus through the Rift for the first time since his exile.

He smiled as that familiar power filled him, a warm comfort not unlike greeting an old friend. He clasped his hands together concentrated. With a loud protest, the Rift began retreating back into itself, slowly at first, and then with great speed as Elder used the power given to the Guardians to mend and repair the tear in the fabric of space and time.

It was over in an instant, and an emergency broadcast to Czerka was sent out before powering down the ship altogether. Michael and Asmodeus were tended to by the others. In the coming years, their rivalries would set them at odds with each other time and again, but they would always remember the time when they had worked together to protect the galaxy as they were always meant to do.

It took less than a day for Czerka to send a rescue crew to assist with the reclamation. In the coming weeks, the Halcyons were treated to the very best that Czerka had to offer by way of rehabilitation, all the time insisting that Passus and his followers were a rogue project long since abandoned by Czerka, and that of course they never would have condoned the egregious conduct that had been committed in the name of their company. Those who suffered the worst injuries were treated to the finest medical facilities in the galaxy, and all of the Halcyons were offered substantial 'benevolence packages' as an informal apology.

The Acheron had been scheduled to be scuttled and dismantled by Czerka, but a mysterious core malfunction had caused the ship to blow apart just hours before the planned excavation. If anyone saw Asmodeus' ship flying away just moments before the blast, no one reported it.

Asmodeus returned to Dromund Kaas. He used his new income from Czerka to renovate the old estate that had fallen into disrepair. Under coordination with Volaro, who would once again take up duties as master of his house, they constructed a new tower that be home to all Halcyons that operated within the purview of the Empire, including a section where Haborym could be safely hidden away until Asmodeus could properly explain his readmittance to the team.

Michael and Elder returned to Coruscant, where they bought out the top several floors of an apartment complex near the Senate Tower and retrofitted as a counterpart to Asmodeus' safe haven. Any Halcyons that operated within the bounds of the Republic now had a place to properly call home together.

Rodeo returned to his criminal enterprise to find it completely dismantled and swallowed up by a variety of smaller organizations. After several weeks of his disappearance, he had been presumed dead and his assets fought over like dogs on a bone. And so, together with Barrow, he built plans for a newer, smaller operation out of Nar Shaddaa, where they could host various enterprises, as well as a neutral territory location for the Halcyons to meet together.

It was this new home on Nar Shaddaa where the Halcyons worked together to rebuild what they could of the technology from the Acheron into a smaller, much more controlled Gateway device. From their outpost, they would be able to monitor other such tears in the galaxy and respond much more efficiently to them. Imperial and Republic ties were left at the door as Halcyon met with Halcyon together to protect the galaxy from those who would use their birthrights to do it harm. Using any resources at their disposal, they protected their Galaxy cut off from the Nexus from anyone who lusted after its power. Side by side they stood, ever watchful, ever vigilant.

So it was that the Guardians were reborn.

* * *

Epilogue: Part 1

"Visitor for you, sir. Oryon."

Asmodeus sat at his desk, setting down his papers and motioned for Volaro to let Oryon in.

The blue Chiss entered the study, snapping a smart salute at the Sith before taking a seat.;

"Oryon. Good to see you. How is your rehabilitation coming?"

Oryon's artificial right eye spun in its socket. He growled in annoyance. "This prosthetic is cheap and unsatisfactory. I've already modified my old scanner with an attachment to fill the void of the socket and attach to my ocular nerve. I'm having it installed later today."

Asmodeus nodded. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Oryon crossed his legs. "You know that the Legion Council is meeting tonight, yes?"

Asmodeus nodded slowly.

"And I presume you are expecting to be reinstated as a member of the High Council, now that you've returned from the dead a second time?"

Asmodeus frowned at this, not liking the tone Oryon was taking. "What is your point, Oryon? Speak plainly."

Oryon pulled out a datapad and reviewed his notes. "Something about our experience at Tartarus continued to bother me, and so I've been reviewing records leading up to the event. That area where the Rift opened? Logs show that you had been out in that quadrant several times in the weeks leading up to its emergence. And try as I might, I could not find anything else of note in that area that might warrant a visit." Oryon met Asmodeus' stare, as the larger Sith refused to react.

"In fact, I could find nothing of note in the logs about why you had gone out that way at all. That is rather suspicious, don't you think?"

Asmodeus sighed and settled back into his chair. "Oryon, as ever you are being paranoid."

Oryon frowned. "You knew what was happening. Tell me you didn't plan what happened. Tell me you didn't intentionally submit us to that hell for your own reasons..."

Asmodeus narrowed his eyes, and he chose his words carefully. "Everything I have ever done, has been for the good of the galaxy."

Oryon tightened his lips in anger, and turned for the door. Before leaving he turned back to Asmodeus. "You know it would take a full majority vote of the Council to reinstate you. If I were you, I'd be more careful how you treated your allies." He closed the door.

Asmodeus sighed again, and opened his desk drawer. He pulled out a holovid projector, and queued up security footage that he had pulled from the Acheron just before its untimely demise. In it, he watched over and over again how the young woman from the Gateway snapped her bonds and sprinted away. He froze the frame on her face, and studied it carefully.

"Calliope..."

* * *

Epilogue: Part 2

"Calliope, child. Have we arrived?"

"Yes, Father. I've never felt warmth like this. There are two suns on this world."

"Yes, child. A wonderful place for us to hide away and recover from our wounds."

"Father?"

"Yes, child?"

"When will I get to slay the monsters?"

"Soon, child. Very soon, we will slay them together.

...All of them."

 _Thanks for reading!_


End file.
